Spark of Life
by Kaffin
Summary: The story of Hermione's friendship and respect for the dark man feared by all others. How much will she sacrifice to save the life of a man who desperately loves another, and who continually tests her loyalty? Eventual HG/SS, begins at the end of 5th year and continues to post-Hogwarts.
1. Chapter 1

Twisted, broken branches snapped underfoot; limbs furiously ripped from majestic torsos that reached impossibly high into the dark canopy above by long gone passers by. The dark man, wand extended, strode purposefully through the undergrowth, uncaring of the small forest animals scurrying fearfully out of his way, and of the dark, luminous-eyed shapes moving almost imperceptibly closer, the instinct to remain in the shadows for a moment overridden by curiosity as to what drove the black figure so far into the forest.

To any such creature, a mysterious stranger alone would not warrant such intrigue; the forest was not unused to those shrouded in darkness, visiting to locate a particularly rare and dark creature, or simply for the ear-shattering silence provided only by the complete privacy required to carry out their various misdeeds. However, from the moment he had stepped into the forest this man had radiated fury to all its inhabitants, anger seeping from his every pore and translated through the language of strong strides, the fierce sweeping of his cloak and the flashing of his black eyes.

The shroud-like quiet was in an instant punctured by a distant howl; the dark man was instantly on his guard, stepping backwards into the relative safety of the shadows. Once the silence again descended, an almost imperceptible expletive passed his lips, followed by a violently spat "Potter", before the man continued his swift yet thorough scouring of the paths of the Forbidden Forest.

After a few short moments, which to the uncomfortable observer seemed to extend into the hours, the man, apparently dissatisfied with his current direction, made a harsh turn to the left, even deeper into the forest. At that very moment, an impossibly white light advanced behind the man, who immediately swung around, wand tightly gripped, a curse already bubbling upon his thin lips. However, he abruptly dropped his wand and fractionally relaxed his posture upon the sight of a misty, ethereal outline of a phoenix. The phoenix regarded him thoughtfully, before releasing not the sweet sound expected of such a bird, but the deep, melodic voice of an aged man.

"They have been found; you are required immediately at the castle. Voldemort" - at this point the dark man visibly recoiled, as if the word had stung – "succeeded in luring Harry to the Ministry. Fortunately the Order arrived in time, and the children are for the most part unhurt. However, please make haste, Severus, there are a few matters that need your immediate attention." The phoenix paused, as if deliberating whether to continue. "Sirius Black is dead." With that final pronouncement, the mist dissolved, leaving only darkness once again.

Severus Snape stood stock still for a few moments, the contrast between his pallid face and jet black hair and robes making him appear almost statuesque in his pause. The only indication of any reaction to the phoenix was a slight twitching in his jaw, the only characteristic of his inner turmoil at the news of his old enemy's death. In the gloom, it was impossible to make out the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth, nor the momentary gleam in his eye, before he turned on his heel and headed swiftly away.

The forest watched the dark man sweep away with intrigue, the distant shimmering lights dancing on his patent black boots like fireflies. Even the Forbidden Forest itself, for all its dark mystery, could not discern the secrets of Severus Snape.


	2. Chapter 2

It goes without saying that J.K. Rowling owns it all, and that I'm just having fun living in the world of her genius :)

**Chapter Two**

_But the Death Eater Hermione had just struck dumb made a sudden slashing movement with his wand; a streak of what looked like purple flame passed right through Hermione's chest. She gave a tiny 'Oh!' as though of surprise and crumpled on to the floor, where she lay motionless. (_© J.K. Rowling)

It was widely acknowledged that Hermione Granger was very intelligent. In fact, her intelligence was her defining characteristic, her redeeming feature, something upon which she could rely to set her apart from others when feeling insecure about her appearance, excessive practicality, or uncanny knack to alienate those around her. As such, she found herself perfectly aware that what she was experiencing was, in fact, a dream. Her logical brain was perfectly aware that she was not at the Yule Ball, and that the pleasant warming sensation in her chest was not from copious amounts of Butterbeer. If, however, she was in any doubt as to whether what she was experiencing was real, this was quickly dissipated by Ron quietly reading _Hogwarts: A History_ in the corner, next to a pile of untouched Chocolate Frogs.

Of course, there was also that nagging feeling in the back of her mind that she should be worried about something. Admittedly, that sensation was not unusual; it was rare that Hermione found herself completely carefree, particularly when there was homework to be done, and of course You-Know-Who to be defeated. However, this felt different, like there was some sort of present threat, like she was primed for action against an unnamed danger. She turned away from Ron and cast her eyes towards Harry…

"Harry!" Hermione jerked awake with sudden urgency, sat bolt upright in a bed that didn't feel like hers. Taking a deep, unsteady breath she began to survey the room, and had just about reached the conclusion that she was in the Hospital Wing when a searing pain ripped through her chest, and wiped her mind of anything other than the sheer unendurability of it. An unholy scream that she dimly recognised as her own pierced her eardrums, and she felt something warm trickling down her cheek.

A cool hand pressed itself to her forehead and a kindly voice from far away instructed her to breathe evenly. With no other choice than to obey, Hermione took several deep breaths, reducing the white hot lava conquering her chest to a smaller, more manageable flame. With some persuasion from the owner of the hand, she lay back against soft pillows behind her, trying to settle her pounding heart.

"Hermione?" A familiar tone; Hermione immediately felt more at ease. Ron was here; she must be safe if Ron was here. "Hermione, are you okay? Well, obviously not, you look bloody awful, but…"

"Ron!" Hermione croaked pitifully, before contorting with the effort of speaking. Swallowing thickly, she managed to spit out, "where's Harry?"

"He's with Dumbledore, he's been ages now. He's alright, everyone's alright. Just-"

"That's quite enough for now, Mr. Weasley," Madam Pomfrey proclaimed shrilly. "Perhaps now Miss Granger has woken up, you would be so kind as to let me see to my patient!"

Ron must have acquiesced, for Hermione once again felt the cool hand against her forehead. Although it was bliss and there was nothing she wanted more than to curl up and sleep with that hand cooling her forehead, she had the niggling suspicion that Madam Pomfrey's intervention had been timed to prevent Ron revealing something important. She opened her mouth to ask what had happened, however before she could utter so much as a syllable a very familiar voice immediately rendered her silent.

"Miss Granger, I do not wish to be sat in this room all night. Kindly for once keep your mouth shut so that we can get this over as quickly as possible." Hermione's eyes flew open in shock to find Professor Snape looming menacingly over her bed, regarding her with his usual mixture of contempt and lack of interest.

"P-Professor Sna-"

"It appears," Snape enunciated deliberately, with unmistakeable derision, "that your capabilities have been vastly overestimated. You seem unable to follow even the simplest of orders. It therefore seems that you rank below even a Hippogriff in comprehension."

"Oi! Don't talk to her like that!"

"OUT, Weasley. And fifty points from Gryffindor, for talking to a Professor with such disrespect." Hermione could almost imagine the colour of Ron's face right now, however to her relief he left without further argument, the only evidence of his departure a particularly vicious door slam.

"Perhaps I may now continue without interruption." Snape smirked as if enjoying some private joke. "Prepare yourself, Miss Granger, this will be unpleasant. Frigus coro!" Hermione barely had time to steel herself before an icy grip clutched at her heart, instantly rendering her freezing cold. She gasped, desperately trying to gulp air into her frozen lungs, to no avail. Feeling her heart slowing, she clawed at the empty air in front of her in an attempt to fight off the invisible suffocator, again with no success. Time slowed to a crawl, and Hermione felt her body begin to feel sluggish without oxygen. _I'm going to die; Snape is killing me. Harry was right about him. Oh God, Harry, what will he do if I die…_

"Breathe, girl!"

Hands shook her shoulders. Fingers prised her mouth open. Cold.

"PARUM VITAE SCINTILLAM!" Snape screamed, an intense blue shock emitting from his wand, absorbed completely by Hermione's limp body. In an instant, she choked on air suddenly accepted into her lungs, the ice in her chest immediately gone. Dragging deep, noisy breaths, Hermione felt her body becoming her own once more, feeling returning to her extremities, her heart beating steadily.

"Severus!" Madam Pomfrey's high-pitched exclamation immediately caught her attention; Professor Snape was knelt on all fours on the floor, oily hair touching the flagstones. "Severus, tell me what you need!"

"Nothing," Snape whispered, the air whistling in his chest. "See to Granger."

Madam Pomfrey instantly snapped to attention, bustling around Hermione, peering into her pupils and casting diagnostic spells at her chest. Apparently satisfied, at least for now, she took a potion from the rack adjacent to Hermione's bed, unpopped the cork and unceremoniously tipped it down Hermione's throat.

"Lie back, Miss Granger. Do you have any idea how lucky you are? I said _lie back_!" Hermione obeyed mechanically, eyes glued to the pitiful figure of her Potions master, still panting on the floor. His cloak had slipped from his shoulders, better revealing his painfully thin form. He looked as if he had not eaten properly for weeks, his paper white skin an almost painful contrast to the blackness of his attire. He lifted his hand to push his greasy hair from his sweat-covered face, unwittingly exposing his Dark Mark; an ugly bruise-like scar marring the impossibly pale skin of his forearm. Despite her robotic state, Hermione felt a rush of gratitude to the dark man, mixed with guilt for doubting him and confusion as to why he would risk his own health to help her, a Gryffindor, for whom he obviously held great disdain. As if sensing her gaze, Snape suddenly lifted his head, his eyes locking with hers; narrowed onyx meeting widened brown. For a brief moment, she thought she saw a trace of concern cross his face, but that was impossible, and when she looked again, he wore his usual impassive mask. Unable to process the myriad of thoughts speeding through her mind, she found herself overcome by a sudden, overwhelming weariness, likely induced by the potion she had taken. Eyelids drooping, her last vision was of her feared Potions professor intensely studying her face, gaze boring into her soul, before she finally succumbed to sleep.

* * *

><p>Severus Snape stiffly descended the stone steps of his dungeon quarters, every movement sending shooting pains through his very bones. Once into his living room, he sank slowly into a patchy green velvet armchair, which had undoubtedly seen better days, and with a swift jerk of his wand summoned a glass of Firewhiskey. After a mere heartbeat, the glass was empty, and silence settled over the dank, mildew-edged room and its broken and sore occupant. It was only then that he allowed himself to reflect.<p>

What had he done? He had seen plenty die before him, and many just like Granger, clawing for air in their last moments. It was almost ironic really, seeing powerful witches and wizards, those who prided themselves on being able to bend nature to their command, to mould their world merely to fit their own desires, reduced to fighting for oxygen like the mere mortals that they were. It just goes to show that even magic turns to dust, in the end.

So why hadn't he let her die? He had done everything that he was obligated as a person _in loco parentis _to do; he had cast the counter curse to save her from the purple flames consuming her insides, to save her from the cage of oblivion that imprisoned her as her body became ash. And yet the curse, although dousing the flames, had failed, the ice had suffocated her. It was something he could not have predicted, and from which she should not have been saved. Whatever gods that sat high in the heavens had proclaimed that her life should be forfeit, and that no healing spell should be enough to save her. Hermione Granger was no longer intended for this world.

And yet he had not accepted this. He had taken the only remaining option, and given her Life Spark. Uncaring of the consequences, he had donated part of his magical soul to a mere teenage girl. Not just any teenage girl, but Hermione Granger, irritating friend of Harry Potter, the very bane of his existence. What the hell had possessed him?

Of course he would regain most of his strength eventually, he was a powerful wizard after all, and thankfully he hadn't been stupid enough to donate his whole soul, which would have rendered him a weak and useless Squib forever more. In fact, if temporary loss of magical and physical strength were the only consequence, Snape would have been much freer with his soul, regardless of the potential danger in facing the Dark Lord with less than optimum strength. If the opportunity had arisen, he might even have donated Life Spark to Black. Well, perhaps that was going a bit far. Then again, it would have been a satisfying sight, to witness Black awakening to realise that he owed a life debt to _Snivellus_. Snape smirked, however this dropped slightly as he realised that not even Life Spark from Merlin himself could save Black now. A lifetime of animosity had embittered Snape such that he could not mourn Black, just as he had not mourned James Potter, however to his surprise he found that he could not rejoice in his death. He was yet another sacrifice, another character in this never-ending charade who had laid down his life for Harry Potter. Like Lily.

Snape immediately tore his thoughts away before the ever-present grief for his beloved Lily hit him with renewed force, and focused once again on the matter at hand, and the real problem of this situation. Namely, the fact that the soul of Hermione Granger would forever more harbour a piece of his own. She would forever be tainted by his evil, her life spark dulled by the acts that he had committed. In saving her life, he had condemned her to a cursed life. He had permanently scarred her innocent soul.

_But she is alive, Severus_. Lily's voice came unbidden into his head, as it often did when he was too tired or distracted to occlude his conscious mind from the dark abyss of his subconscious. _Better a half life than no life at all_.

"It was necessary." Snape spoke aloud, and despite his misgivings knew it to be true. Who knew how Potter might have reacted at the loss not only of his godfather but also of one of his best friends. The war was reaching a crucial stage; the Dark Lord had now made his first public appearance, and it would not be long before he once again reached the terrifying heights of power that he had previously held. Potter must be kept on his trajectory at all costs. Snape had sworn both to Dumbledore and to the memory of Lily on the day that the Dark Lord returned that he would protect the boy with his life. Snape brightened a little as he realised that this must be why he had saved Granger's life today; she was vital to Potter's success and so his vow had kicked in. There was no element of free will at all; he had not chosen to save her.

_Of course, it was nothing to do with the fact that she reminds you of me…_

Snape immediately squashed that thought. Granger was nothing like Lily, Lily had been naturally beautiful and talented, everything she said was valuable and important. Granger was plain and boring; her supposed 'talents' lay only in the memorisation of books. Everything that came out of her mouth was irritating and pointless, parrot-like repetition of the genius of others. She was certainly nothing like Lily. Not at all. Granger was just another student to whom Snape was bound to protect, her only value was her proximity to Lily's son.

Along those lines, Snape rose slowly from his armchair, his muscles screaming in protest as he limped towards his laboratory. If the day's sacrifice were to mean anything at all, he must brew the plethora of potions that the girl would need to recover properly. And if along the way he were to brew a pain-banishing potion to soothe the muscles that he knew would be aching just as much as his own, this would mean nothing. After all, Severus Snape most certainly did not care about his students, and particularly not about Hermione Granger.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N - Thank you so much to my reviewers/favouriters/followers! I'm loving writing this but you are the icing on the cake, so thank you :)

**Chapter Three**

Hermione gingerly stretched for the book lying on her bedside table, slowly creeping her fingertips up the its spine until she had enough purchase on it to pull it onto her lap without dropping it and alerting Madam Pomfrey. Almost five days after the battle at the Ministry, she was still confined to the Hospital Wing, her sore and bruised lungs spasming with even the smallest of ill-judged movements. She had slept for a full day and night after the incident with Professor Snape, the combined stress of the fighting and the damage wrought by Dolohov's curse and Snape's counter-curse had completely drained her body.

Of course, she thought wryly, the chances of Madam Pomfrey hearing even a herd of Hippogriffs stampeding through the room were significantly low considering the trumpeting snores emitting from Ron, who was also recovering in the bed next to her. Although apparently physically well, and certainly well enough to maintain a more than healthy appetite, he would occasionally lapse into confusion, a side effect, Madam Pomfrey said, of the curse that had addled his brain at the Ministry. These periods of confusion were, however, becoming increasingly further apart, and he was due to be released tomorrow. Hermione was greatly relieved at this; she hated to think of Harry alone in the Gryffindor Tower, struggling with his grief without his best friends to support him. She felt a surge of sadness at the image. Oh, Harry.

He had broken down when he had visited her after she had woken up and told her of Sirius' death, the guilt weighing on his mind almost too much for him to bear. Although she had tried on multiple occasions since then to reassure him that it was You-Know-Who, and not he, who had killed his godfather, Harry refused to absolve himself of any of the responsibility, and avoided discussing it at all costs. He had barely eaten or slept since; his eyes sunk into his face, shadowed and dull. Despite Ron's best efforts to take his mind off things, he remained solemn and depressed in his every waking moment; not even Quidditch could tempt him from the darkened cave to which he had retreated. Although she knew that time would take the edge from his pain, Hermione couldn't help but wonder how much more her best friend could take. Sirius had been more than just Harry's godfather, he had been his friend, confidante and role model too. He was Harry's only link to his parents, his father's best friend, and Hermione knew that Harry was not only mourning Sirius, but the father that he had grown to know through him. He had been cruelly robbed of his hope for the future, that You-Know-Who would be defeated and Sirius' name cleared, and that he would live with the only father that he had ever known. Now all that was gone, and Harry had retreated into himself, refusing to talk about Sirius or indeed anything related to the battle, despite Hermione's best efforts. Even from her bed in the Hospital Wing, it was clear from the hushed whispers of other students visiting the Hospital Wing, the concerned glances of the Professors passing through, the brash melodrama of the Daily Prophet and even the demeanour of Harry himself, that the hopes of the wizarding world lay solidly upon the shoulders of her best friend, and that he was breaking under its weight.

Unsurprisingly, Ron seemed to think that the best way to deal with Harry's visible torment was to pretend that it didn't exist. As long as there was still Quidditch to be discussed, Ron seemed determined to continue distracting him. Hermione found herself sceptical of this plan, and the pair had had several furiously whispered arguments over the large pile of Chocolate Frogs (donated by the Weasley twins) littering the table that separated hers and Ron's beds. However, as her attempts at engaging Harry in serious conversation had been about as successful as Ron's plan of distracting him, she had to admit that they were both as clueless as each other. The best she could hope for, Hermione mused, was for him to talk to them when he was ready, and in the meantime for them to be there as moral support. She would never have thought that she would say it, but she was actually glad that he would be returning to the Dursleys' in a couple of days; perhaps the antagonism he felt towards them would give him something else to focus on, other than this overwhelming grief in which he was currently drowning.

Lost in thought, the book slipped from her hands and before she knew it and had the sense to make a grab for it, it had hit the floor with a sharp slap, unfortunately in the precise second of silence between the gurgling inhale and almost musical exhale of Ron's snore. Hermione closed her eyes in exasperation. Sure enough, within a few seconds came the creak of the wooden door to Madam Pomfrey's office, and quick, abrupt footsteps getting gradually closer.

"Miss Granger, what did I tell you about reading that book? You need rest, and plenty of it. The book will be there when you are recovered!" The mediwitch hissed, sending the book zipping through the open door of her office with a brief jab of her wand.

"I'm sorry, Madam Pomfrey. I can't sleep, I have so much whirling around in my head…"

"Yes, well." Madam Pomfrey pursed her lips, however her face took on a slightly more sympathetic expression. "You have been through a lot, I don't pretend that if it hadn't have been for Professor Snape, I don't know what I would have done with you." She shook her head vigorously, as if the thought were too unsavoury to give head space to.

"What exactly was the curse? I've never come across a spell like that in any of the books I've read."

"You would have to ask Professor Snape that, I have never come across it before. I do know that it would have killed you, if left to take over your body, and so Professor Snape had no choice to cast that counter-curse. None of us could have predicted that you would react so badly to it, he thought he was saving you. And then when you…" She stopped, her eyes momentarily glazed. "I have never, save for Mr Diggory," she stopped to wipe her eyes, "never lost a student, not even in the darkest times before He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was defeated. No student from Hogwarts has ever died in my Hospital Wing." Her chest seemed to expand with pride, as she looked beyond Hermione, deep in thought, conversing more with herself than with the young woman sat cross-legged on the bed in front of her. "I don't mind telling you, though, that if it hadn't have been for Professor Snape, I would be unable to claim that record now. I don't know what he cast to save you from that counter-curse, but whatever it was, it was no small spell. You owe that man your life." Madam Pomfrey looked Hermione straight in the eye, as if seeing her properly once again. "Just you remember that, the next time you and your friends cause him trouble!" With this shrill, scolding pronouncement, the portly, rather buxom woman turned on her heel and shuffled into her office, shutting the door behind her and plunging the room into silent darkness once more.

If that had been Madam Pomfrey's attempt at encouraging Hermione to sleep, it had failed bitterly. Her mind was at once analysing every piece of information that had been revealed.

"Hermione?" Ron stage-whispered, his voice roughened with sleep. "What was all that about?"

"I don't know," she replied unsteadily, thoughts whirring through her brain. "Professor Snape saved my life. Why would he help me? He hates me."

"He hates all of us." Ron snorted. "It was probably him that cocked up the counter-curse, just out of spite. Of course, Dumbledore wouldn't be happy if you'd copped it, so he had to bring you back from the brink." Ron smiled to himself, as if it were obvious. "He gets to play the hero then, too. Probably after special treatment from Pomfrey the next time one of his precious little Slytherins puts a Gryffindor in the Hospital Wing." Despite the darkness, Ron seemed to sense the sceptical look on Hermione's face. "It's the only solution, Hermione, why would the counter-curse work for everyone else, but almost kill you?" He yawned loudly. "The main thing is that you're alright now, no thanks to Snape, the greasy git. One day I swear I'll wipe that smug smirk right off his face, and I know Harry will be right behind me…"

"Ron!" Hermione exclaimed. "He's a teacher! You can't hit a teacher!"

"There has to be a rule somewhere saying there's an exception for evil, greasy Slytherins who get a kick out of torturing Gryffindors…"

"Enough Ron, honestly! I'm sure there are plenty of explanations for why the counter-curse went wrong. And besides, what would he have to gain out of hurting me? Like Madam Pomfrey said, the spell that saved me in the end really took it out of him; why would he put his own magical strength at risk just to get a kick out of torturing a Gryffindor?" Hermione paused thoughtfully for a moment. "The only way I'm going to find out what happened is by talking to Professor Snape."

"Hermione, are you mad?! You're actually going to go and seek the git out, give him another chance to try and bump you off?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Ron. No, as soon as I get out of here I'm going to go and ask him about what happened. I'm being perfectly reasonable in wanting to know what happened, and I'm sure that Professor Snape will see that." Hermione nodded decisively in the gloom, her mouth curving into the satisfied smile that always appeared when she had a plan.

Ron snorted vehemently, but didn't argue the point further. After five years of friendship with Hermione, he knew that when she had an idea in her head she wouldn't be swayed. Instead, he loudly shifted positions so that he was facing away from her, and settled into his pillows. It wasn't long before the sound of snoring once again punctuated the silence.

Hermione looked up at the ceiling, her eyes bright and determined. Yes, she would go to see Professor Snape, thank him for saving her life and ask him precisely what happened. After all, he couldn't find anything unreasonable in that, could he?


	4. Chapter 4

Thanks once again to my lovely reviewers! Please keep reviewing, it's so motivating to know that people are enjoying what I'm writing as much as I'm enjoying writing it! Obviously © J.K. Rowling, as much as I wish Harry Potter was mine, he isn't :( but thank you , for giving me the opportunity to play around with it!

**Chapter Four**

Severus Snape dropped heavily into his faithful green armchair, pressing his fingers to his throbbing temples. He could hear students milling around outside, saying their goodbyes to Hogwarts for another year. The Express would be leaving soon, and he could finally get some peace. He loosened his cravat wearily, and grabbed the hovering glass of Firewhiskey that he had conjured earlier as an incentive to make it through the final lunch in the Great Hall.

His exhaustion seemed to extend even to his fingertips; he had slept only for a handful of hours in the last week. He was more than used to this, the obligations imposed upon him by his students, Dumbledore and the Dark Lord left him little time to sleep. However, since the incident with Granger, he had been left dog-tired, with no opportunity to allow his body to recover. He couldn't help thinking that if it weren't for the copious amounts of Pepper-Up Potion that he had brewed for a rainy day, he would not have made it through the week. The downside of this, however, was that he had been left with a near-constant headache as a reminder of the exhaustion that lay only arm's length away. Damn Granger, and damn his own foolish sense of duty.

However, he had made it, and now he could sleep. He had instructed Dumbledore to leave him be for a few days, and short of the Dark Lord's unlikely summons now that the students had returned home and consequently temporarily limited his usefulness, he intended to spend a few heavenly days catching up on his rest with a few good books and his painfully neglected bed. He would then spend the rest of the week marking the no doubt horrific Potions OWLs from the current fifth years (he was particularly dreading Longbottom's), before retreating to the safe haven of Spinner's End, and spending the summer in relative solitude. He inhaled deeply through his nose, and let an exceptionally rare smile cross his lips. When he had first inherited his childhood home he had resented it, seeing it as a constant reminder of his miserable childhood and despicably Muggle beast of a father. However, after a particularly violent alcohol-fuelled rage shortly after Lily's death, the interior of the house was all but destroyed. Once the immediate haze of grief had passed, and Dumbledore had entrusted the Potions Professorship to him on the conditions that he swear the Unbreakable Vow to obey him and set his chaotic life in order, Snape had resolved to redecorate the house, and to use it as his safe haven, away from Dumbledore, Hogwarts and the constant threat of the Dark Lord's return.

Now, he saw it as precisely that. It was the only place on the entire planet that Severus Snape felt comfortable; the only place that he could seek complete solitude. Dumbledore knew better than to disturb him there; any message could be sent by Patronus, and he would use that medium to summon him rather than intrude upon Snape's home. Snape was grateful to him for that; it at least gave the impression that he had some modicum of privacy, despite him being bound to jump at every click of the wizard's fingers. The Dark Lord and his fellow Death Eaters would, save for dire emergency, never dream of entering the filthy neighbourhood in which Spinner's End was located, in deepest darkest Manchester. All these factors combined meant that Snape loved his home greatly, tired and tattered though it may be.

In addition, despite it being home to some terrible memories, it also harboured some of the best memories of his life. On the days that he felt particularly low, he could take a ten-minute walk from the house, and visit the meadow in which he and Lily would spend hours when they were young. He would take off his cloak and relax in the long grass, the flowers tickling his back through his thin white shirt. He could smell lavender in the air, the perfume that she always wore. If he closed his eyes, he could almost see the flashes of fiery red hair behind the trees, could hear Lily's laugh as she teased and hid from him. He squeezed his eyes tighter to keep back tears that threatened to fall. She had always been just out of his grasp. Close enough to love with every fibre of his being, but far enough away to prevent her from ever being his. Fourteen and a half years later and he still missed her, a painful ache in his chest every time he thought of her. If only he could have seen her one last time before that night, the night that his dangerously inflated pride and greedy determination to succeed had driven him to the Dark Lord with the prophecy, impossibly eager to impress and uncaring of the consequences. If only he had had the chance to say goodbye, he would have told her how much he cherished her, how he would gladly give up everything he had built up under the Dark Lord to be with her. She would never have left Potter, he knew that, but perhaps she would have died knowing his true feelings, maybe even loving him a little bit, like she used to in those golden days in the meadow.

He was interrupted from his bittersweet reverie by a loud knock, amplified by the stone walls and echoing through his private laboratory to his living quarters. He quickly cleared his throat, any trace of his previous emotion gone in a flash as he schooled his face into its usual bored mask, and strode purposefully to the door, narrowed eyes giving the only clue as to his inner fury that yet again his time was demanded by another. Seemingly, his duty was never-ending.

* * *

><p>Hermione waited nervously by the large oak door leading from the Potions classroom to Professor Snape's private laboratory. She had never been beyond this point, and couldn't help imagining the horrific scene that she felt sure lay behind the door; no doubt there were jars filled with blood littering the shelves, disembodied heads in large glass containers just waiting to be dropped into some unsavoury potion. Perhaps even the body parts of the last student who had voluntarily sought out Professor Snape outside of teaching hours…<p>

_Don't be ridiculous, Granger_, Hermione told herself sternly. _Professor Snape is first and foremost a Professor, not some kind of evil ghoul. Just be polite and respectful, and he will respond to that. No-one is completely irrational. _Despite the silent monologue, as she heard loud footsteps striding closer from behind the door, she had to fight the overriding instinct to run as far and as fast as she could. Succeeding, her feet remained rooted to the spot, her heart pounding as the door swung backwards to reveal an incensed Professor Snape.

"Miss Granger," the dark man towering over her murmured silkily, his quiet tone belying the fury that was quite obviously simmering below the surface. "To what do I owe this…_unexpected pleasure?_" His sentence ended with a sneering inflection, his eyes looking upon her with a palpable sense of disdain.

"I-" Hermione cleared her throat, before starting again, this time more confidently. "I'm sorry for the intrusion, Professor, but I was hoping that I could speak with you."

"It has perhaps escaped your notice, Miss Granger, but the term has now officially finished. I am no longer obliged to tolerate your company, and nor do I wish to. Good day, Miss Granger." He went to shut the door.

"Please, Sir! It will only take a moment." Snape paused. Seizing the opportunity while it lasted, Hermione quickly continued. "I just wanted to thank you for what you did for me last week, for saving my life. I-I am in your debt." She finished this solemnly, and extended her hand. Snape looked disbelievingly at her, making no move to shake her hand, an unreadable expression on his face.

"I did not act for you, nor for your thanks, Miss Granger. As much as it pains me to admit it, it appears that the fate of the wizarding world lies with your friend, _The Boy Who Lived_." He spat. "It is obvious even to me, who takes no interest in the childish follies of your so-called friendship, that his success hinges in no small part upon the continued contribution of you and Mr Weasley." He sniffed disparagingly, as if even uttering Ron's name had left an unsavoury smell in the air. "I had no choice but to save you. As such, your thanks are unnecessary and unjustified. Miss Granger." He nodded his goodbye and once more made to retreat. Hermione immediately dropped her hand and urgently took a step closer.

"Wait! What exactly happened? Why did the counter-curse fail? What was the spell that you cast to save me?" All the questions bubbling in Hermione's mind spewed haphazardly from her lips in her desperation to discover some answers before Snape shut the door in her face. To her surprise, Snape laughed, an unpleasant, mocking sound.

"I should have known that you came here for information. You really cannot bear not knowing, can you? Well, I am sorry to disappoint you, Miss Granger, but I do not find myself minded to provide you with relief. Some mysteries in life are never solved, Miss Granger, and the sooner that you learn that the better. Fortunately, I pride myself on being a dedicated and thorough teacher, and so am more than happy to rise to the task of delivering that particular lesson." The edges of Snape's lips curled into a contemptuous smirk, as he watched the conflicting emotions cross Hermione's face: anger, childish frustration, desperation and resentment tracking their successive journeys across her face. She fought the urge to stamp her foot, and when Snape's smirk grew even more pronounced she knew that he was reading her reactions as if she were a child's book, complete with impossibly large print.

"I have a right to know!" she exclaimed shrilly, the sulky tone that she was desperately trying to squash leaking through into her voice.

"You have no **right** to know anything, Miss Granger. You only have the **desire** to know. You were unwell; I cured you. As far as I am concerned, that is all you need to know."

"But-"

Snape continued as if she had never spoken. "My impression of you, Miss Granger, was that you were the most sensible, and least dunce-like of your friends. It appears that I was wrong. You are just as self-obsessed and inconsiderate as Potter and Weasley, demanding to know information that is none of your business. Did it not occur to you that Dark Magic begets only Dark magic? You were very fortunate that I am a Dark Wizard, Miss Granger – not even your esteemed Head of House could have known how to counter the extremely dark curse that Mr Dolohov chose to bestow upon you. However, if that piece of information were to leak to the Ministry, or to the Dark Lord, we both know that I may not be so fortunate as you as to walk away with my life, or indeed my liberty, intact."

"I didn't think-"

"Obviously." Snape rolled the word over his tongue, drawing it out almost to the point of ridiculousness. "Goodbye, Miss Granger." With that, the door firmly clicked shut, the grate of the latch on the other side the final nail in the coffin that constituted the short-lived conversation.

Hermione stood stock still, staring at the door with a bemused expression on her face. She was torn between the impulse to storm off, slamming the door on the way out of the Potions classroom for good measure, and knocking again to apologise, although for what she still wasn't quite sure. Dropping her head, she looked down at the small envelope in her hand. She stared down at it for another couple of moments, her mind ticking, before kneeling to the floor, and silently slipping the envelope under the door. Taking one last look over her shoulder, she stepped quietly across the classroom, and disappeared into the dark of the corridor.

* * *

><p>Severus Snape had almost reached the comfort of his faithful armchair, when he heard the barely audible whisper of paper on stone, followed by the gentle click of the outer classroom door. Intrigued despite himself, he retraced his steps, and leant over to retrieve the small, yellowed envelope on the floor. Opening it impatiently, he pulled out a plain rectangular Muggle card, with 'Thank You' inscribed on the front. Snorting in disbelief, he flipped it open. In a familiar, neat and orderly script, there was a short inscription:<p>

_Dear Professor Snape,_

_I know that you will find this an unorthodox method of communication, but I wanted to thank you in the most sincere way that I know, and as a Muggleborn, this is it._

_I also intend to thank you in person, however I have the feeling that it might not go down too well. I will try nonetheless, but in the event of me failing to put across just how grateful I am, this will have to do._

_Thank you, Professor. _

_I suspect you're not one for chocolates or a nice bottle of wine, and I feel sure that I don't have anything that I can offer you in return. So all I will say is this: if I can ever be of any assistance to you, in any way whatsoever, then you need only ask._

_I remain in your debt,_

_Hermione Granger_

Snape read the card several times in succession, unsure whether he was more surprised at receiving a thank you card from a student, the fact that said student was a Gryffindor, and no less than the best friend of Harry Potter, or that she had managed to limit the message to one side of the card. His immediate thought was to throw it into the fire, dismissing both the card itself and the sentiment of the bearer. In fact, he moved towards the fireplace intending to do just that, however something stopped him in his tracks. Perhaps it was the fact that she had gone to the trouble to write to thank him, despite his constant derisive attitude toward her at every juncture. Perhaps it was the sheer novelty of such a sentiment; after all, Severus Snape did not receive a thank you card every day, nor even every decade. In fact, if he were honest, this was the first time that a student outside Slytherin had sincerely thanked him for anything in his whole teaching career. Or perhaps, he half-admitted, it was because it was such a _Lily_ thing to do. He still had a drawer full of cards from her, some birthday cards, some Christmas, and others just cards to thank him for helping her with her homework, teaching her information taken for granted by those brought up in a wizarding family, and others simply for being her friend. For one dizzying moment, he was tempted to place this new card in that drawer with Lily's. Then common sense caught up with him and he shook his head, disbelieving that the temptation had ever crossed his mind. Angry with himself, he made to cross the room, back to the safety of his battered armchair, glass of Firewhiskey and reminisces of happier times. However, before he did, he placed the card on the mantelpiece above the fire. After all, it didn't hurt to keep it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

The August evening was stifling, the muggy cloud of heat settled over the tall, crooked house a suffocating cushion, forcing the inhabitants outside in an attempt to discover even a breath of a breeze to cool their perspiring foreheads and dry their sticky clothes. Hermione Granger lay some distance from the others, lounging in the last red remnants of the day's sunshine in a t-shirt and shorts, her plimsolls kicked off into the undergrowth. A book sat forgotten beside her, _The Forbidden Romance of Aradelia Mockett_ the best that the Burrow had had to offer, now that she had exhausted her own collection. Ordinarily, she would have arranged to take a trip to Flourish and Blotts to replenish her stock, however with the macabre happenings of the summer fresh in everyone's minds, it had been decided that the Order of the Phoenix, and those affiliated with it, should only make the most essential of journeys. The murders of Amelia Bones and Emmeline Vance hung over the normally cheerful atmosphere of the Weasley family home like an uneasy shroud, and Hermione had been painfully aware of the rising trepidation ever since she had returned to the wizarding world from her parents' house that morning.

Harry would be arriving in a couple of days, thank goodness. Hermione had been sick with worry over the summer, her owls to him returning with only the barest of replies. Ron had been surprisingly philosophical about it all, saying that the time and space away from magic over the summer would do him good, and telling her that she should stop harping on about it. Then again, Ron had other things on his mind than Harry, namely the constant presence of Fleur Delacour. Hermione's face soured at the mere thought of the flirtatious Veela, disgusted that intelligence and personality were put aside so easily by boys like Ron in favour of false compliments and a pretty face. When she had had enough, after only a few hours of seeing that sickening expression crossing his face whenever she came into view, she had stomped off, leaving his irritating lovelorn face behind. And so she found herself alone in the long grass, contemplating once again the direction that their lives would surely soon take.

A deafening _crack!_ punctured her silent reverie, leaving her scrambling to her feet, wand extended, cursing her stupidity at straying away from the Weasleys. A figure dressed all in black emerged from the grass, walking steadily before stopping abruptly upon sight of Hermione.

"Miss Granger, kindly lower your wand before you end up hurting someone." Severus Snape said dismissively, a relatively bored expression on his face. Hermione relaxed for a brief moment, before stiffening again, her wand still pointed at his face.

"How do I know that you're the real Professor Snape? You might be an imposter." She swallowed thickly, the grip on her wand vice-like, her knuckles white.

"How would I get past the wards excluding everyone bar the Order, you stupid girl?" Snape sighed impatiently, looking past her as if her mere presence were boring him to tears.

"Stranger things have happened." She stated steadily, staring him straight in the eye. "Prove you aren't an imposter."

Snape thought for a moment, as if contemplating whether to simply hex her and continue on his way, before acquiescing, obviously selecting the option involving least inconvenience later. "Fine. Ask me a question, Miss Granger, and hurry up about it."

Embarrassingly, Hermione's mind went blank. "Er…"

"Well, you are a fine protector of the Weasley household. If I were a Death Eater posing as a member of the Order I would likely have killed you and half of the family by now." Snape's eyes glinted with something akin to amusement.

She reddened, racking her brains for a suitable question, his intense, stony gaze rendering her clueless. Eventually, she gabbled the first thing that occurred to her. "Why were you limping after the Halloween feast in my first year?"

Any amusement vanished from Snape's eyes, as he somewhat bitterly replied, "That buffoon Hagrid's three-headed-dog. Now, if you are quite finished."

Hermione lowered her wand. "I'm sorry, Professor Snape. We're all quite on edge, after everything that's been reported in the Daily Prophet."

"Yes, well. As I said, I could have killed you several times over if I had been a Death Eater." He looked her up and down, finishing at her bare feet, before snorting without amusement. "You are no match for a powerful wizard, Miss Granger, no matter what you and your _friends_ seem to think."

"We've done alright so far." Hermione bit back stonily, inwardly instructing herself not to back down, Professor or not. This was the holidays, and it wasn't Hogwarts, and she was damn well not in the mood to have her intelligence questioned, the quality that she was most proud of.

"You have _done alright_ because of the sacrifices of others in protecting you, or have you forgotten Mr Black already? Or the efforts to which I went to save your life, Miss Granger, the life that you obviously value very little judging by your inept attempt at protecting yourself, and the fact that you have placed yourself away from others, alone and vulnerable." Snape took a step closer to her, his eyes glittering with anger, spitting each syllable as if the words were a bitter taste in his mouth. "You rely on the efforts of others, and put yourselves in unnecessary danger without a thought for those who are bound to protect you. The death of Mr Black is on you, Miss Granger, you and your short-sighted friends who went running to the Ministry without caution. If you look for danger to the Order and to your friends, look not only to Death Eaters, but also to yourself."

Hermione gazed, wide-eyed and horror-stricken, at the man that stood before her, her feelings conflicted and her eyes full of tears. Anger bubbled in her chest at the idea that she, Harry and Ron were to blame for Sirius' death – Sirius had made his own decisions, and it had been You-Know-Who's manipulation of Harry that had led to the events at the Ministry. But…there was that twisted feeling in the pit of her stomach, the heavy weight of guilt that wouldn't be there if what Snape was saying were totally untrue. If only she had convinced Harry to wait for Dumbledore or to contact someone else, Sirius would be alive today. Snape was right, and no wonder; they were just kids playing at an adult's game. For God's sake, they couldn't even fight their own emotions, never mind an army of Death Eaters. With this sick realisation, Hermione felt her eyes spill over, guilt overwhelming her. They were a danger to the Order, to other students, to the whole wizarding world. They took unnecessary risks, underestimated the danger, and every time someone else ended up getting hurt. They were a liability.

But there was no choice in this, they couldn't quietly admit defeat and withdraw. For whatever reason, You-Know-Who had picked Harry and, if what the Daily Prophet was saying about that horrible prophecy was true, this was pre-destined. They were still children, sixteen year olds with the weight of the world on their shoulders, how could they be expected to get it right? How could Snape expect Harry, who had known no love or support until he had gone to Hogwarts, to know how to deal with some madman threatening not only his life, but also everything and everyone he had ever loved? No, Harry was not to blame in this. He was doing his very best in the circumstances, and Hermione knew that he was torturing himself with guilt over Sirius, just as he had over Cedric and undoubtedly would over others before this war was over.

She, however, was a different story. She had perspective, she was intelligent, she was supposed to be the brightest witch of her age. How had she not seen that the Ministry had been a setup? Why hadn't she persuaded Harry to think clearly? It was her fault. She had Sirius' death on her conscience. Blood on her hands.

Snape still stood in front of her, his body very still and an unreadable expression on his face. His dark eyes no longer glittered with the malice that they had throughout his bitter soliloquy, and he regarded Hermione quietly, clearly thoughtful.

"Miss Granger..." he began, his tone even, with only the slightest touch of exasperation. He then paused, as if deliberating over what to say, before stopping. "I have an Order meeting to attend."

Hermione wordlessly moved aside to allow him access to the path that lay behind her, averting her eyes. With a momentary swish of his cloak against the long grass he was gone, leaving Hermione alone with her thoughts in the small copse. After a couple of moments she dropped heavily to sit on the floor, her legs crossed, before putting her head in her hands and sobbing quietly.

* * *

><p>Severus Snape retreated from the clearing swiftly. The girl's gentle weeping followed him, clinging like the uncomfortable sense of regret that he felt for having laid the blame for Black's death squarely at her door.<p>

Insistently he told himself that it was the truth, no matter how hard it was to hear, and that the time for her to acknowledge it had passed long ago. She was, what, sixteen? At sixteen he had been to Death Eater meetings, faced the Dark Lord with no trace of fear, seen his first killing. He had learned guilt the hard way; why should she be any different? She had needed taking down a peg or two anyway. Her inflated sense of self-worth had been grating on his nerves since the very first time he had taught her. He had done remarkably well in lasting this long, all things considered.

_Don't lie to yourself._ Lily's voice piped up. _You've been looking for an excuse to alienate her ever since you cast Life Spark. You can't bear the good opinion of another, can you, Severus? Hatred is much easier to deal with than gratitude. And besides, hating yourself is much easier when everyone else hates you too._


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

By the end of the Order meeting, Severus Snape had forgotten the whole unpleasant business with Granger. Hours of discussion of the extra protection that would be provided when Potter arrived, alongside news of yet more fatalities and disappearances, some even Snape himself was unaware of, had wiped his mind of anything bar tactics and the information that he would be required to feed to the Dark Lord the next time he was summoned.

The Dark Lord had been surprisingly quiet over the summer. In fact, Snape had begun to get rather nervous that his true allegiances were suspected, until he had been summoned several nights previously. The Dark Lord, it seemed, was becoming increasingly fearful and mistrustful of his followers, and so did not share the full extent of his plans to anyone, choosing instead to entrust only certain followers with certain information, ostensibly in an effort to limit the damage were a Death Eater to switch their allegiance. Snape had known nothing of the taking of Ollivander, for example, nor of what The Dark Lord wanted from him. Perhaps, he mused, it was better not to know: it was far more difficult to stand by with full knowledge and allow a tragedy to occur than it was to learn of it later.

However, The Dark Lord had entrusted him with his plan regarding Draco Malfoy. In retaliation for Lucius' ineptitude, the boy had been given the impossible task of murdering Dumbledore, with Snape to step in when (not if) he failed. He had later allowed himself a brief, uncharacteristic moment of smugness when he thought of how well he had concealed his horror at the plan at the time. The Greatest Legilimens, indeed.

Then again, maybe he hadn't been completely fooled. Less than ten minutes after the revelation, The Dark Lord had instructed him to take that snivelling rat, Pettigrew, into his home. Although he had framed it as a gift to Snape, to have an assistant for his more complicated potions, and for the general upkeep of Spinner's End, he wasn't so sure. Pettigrew had an uncanny ability to silently creep around, listening at doors and rummaging through drawers, and he couldn't help but feel that this was a test of loyalty. Snape had quickly suppressed his disgust, knelt to the floor and kissed The Dark Lord's robes, professing his limitless gratitude whilst inwardly seething. It seemed that he would not have his treasured solitude, after all.

As soon as The Dark Lord had dismissed him, Snape had apparated straight to Spinner's End, and gathered up his more private possessions, the ones that he didn't want pawed at by Pettigrew's gnarled and dirty hands. He removed all he had of Lily straight away, unable to stomach the thought of the rat even seeing her face in a photograph, or seeing her neat, looping handwriting. He was the reason she was dead, he thought bitterly, and now he would be his houseguest. He then immediately Flooed to Hogwarts, and told Dumbledore everything. To his surprise, Dumbledore had appeared unfazed by the news, calmly reassuring him that things had a way of working themselves in the end, and that they would find a way around the plan without sacrificing Malfoy, or exposing Snape. Unwilling to leave Pettigrew alone for long with his precious Potions ingredients, he had not pressed the point too far, resolving that the issue could wait, at least until the students returned to Hogwarts. The issue lay uncomfortably on his mind, though, never far from his thoughts. The Dark Lord had attempted to kill Dumbledore before, however he had never used a student to do it. Nothing good could come from this.

"Good evening, Severus." Snape inwardly jumped in surprise, however decades of conditioning his body not to betray even the most extreme of emotions meant that the only acknowledgement that he had been surprised by Remus Lupin's sudden appearance was the slight raising of his left eyebrow, as he took in the downtrodden man beside him.

"Lupin." He replied, nodding stiffly.

"How are you? Things must be stepping up for you, even more than everyone else. Is Voldemort summoning you more often, now that he has stepped up his agenda?"

Snape winced in anticipation of the prickling pain that crept up his arm whenever the name of his master was spoken. Sure enough, his arm burned beneath his cloak, causing him to grit his teeth and snap back at Lupin. "How very amiable, Lupin. But if you are looking for a new best friend now that Black is dead, then you can most assuredly look elsewhere."

Lupin blinked, but instead of turning on his heel and leaving in anger as Snape had hoped that he would, he persisted. "I know that you weren't Sirius' biggest fan, Severus, and I don't expect you to mourn him. However, if you could perhaps refrain from insulting him, particularly in front of Harry, then I'm sure that it would make your life a lot easier."

"Because he of course showed the same restraint with me." Snape smirked humourlessly.

Lupin looked at him hard for a long moment, his docile brown eyes taking in the hard shell that Snape wore permanently. "We were children, Severus. Can you honestly say that you are satisfied with the choices that you made when you were a child?" Snape opened his mouth to bite back, but Lupin ploughed on. "We have all made mistakes, at some point or other. And now Sirius will never make another. Don't you think that death ends the cycle? Does losing our life not absolve us of the mistakes that we made in life? Perhaps it's time to let go of the animosity. There is no use in loathing a dead man, Severus." _But if love can exist even after death, then why not hatred? _Snape's inner voice whispered.

Snape appeared unmoved, and Lupin sighed. If he hadn't known better, Snape might have thought that Lupin was about to put a friendly hand on his shoulder, however thankfully he took a step away, as if he were about to leave. Snape inwardly sighed in relief. Although he didn't feel quite the same animosity for Lupin as he had for Potter and Black, he was hardly about to share fond stories of childhood with the man. _Oh Lupin, do you remember that time you looked on as your best friends levitated me six feet in the air with my trousers round my ankles? What larks._

Lupin reached the door, before turning back abruptly. "I am surprised that Albus didn't attend the meeting today. I would have thought that, as it involved Harry's protection, he would be here. In fact," he continued, frowning, "I haven't heard from him since he sent the letter advising us that he would bring Harry to The Burrow on the sixth. Have you seen him recently?"

"Several nights ago; he was leaving Hogwarts for a few days. It appears that Albus is currently absorbed by something far too important to impart to us, at least for now." He sniffed disapprovingly. "I daresay that it involves Potter in some respect, as most things do of late." He finished bitterly.

Lupin paused for a moment, undoubtedly hearing the somewhat resentful tone in Snape's voice at being kept in the dark. "Take care, Severus," He said gently, before padding away, the door clicking behind him.

After a few moments, Snape also turned to leave, however stopped suddenly. The prospect of returning to Spinner's End, with Pettigrew lurking in the shadows, monitoring his every move, was exceedingly unappealing. He couldn't even lock himself in his laboratory and brew, his magical strength still somewhat depleted from Life Spark, even a couple of months on. He found himself suddenly longing for the threadbare comfort of his Hogwarts rooms, his velvet armchair and crackling fire, dusty tomes littering his shelves. Yes, he would return to Hogwarts for the night. If Pettigrew alerted The Dark Lord of his absence, then so be it; he would not be a prisoner in his own home. With any luck, Dumbledore would still be absent, and would therefore not know that Snape had passed the wards of Hogwarts castle, seeking comfort in solitude. He would have a House Elf cook him up a hot dinner, and then he would sit in front of the fire with his beloved Firewhiskey, reading long into the night. Severus Snape had known little beauty in his life, but even he would admit that this image was pure perfection.

He determinedly stepped towards the large fireplace that dominated the Weasleys' tiny, deserted kitchen and said clearly, "The dungeons, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." With a flash of green fire he was gone, leaving the kitchen empty and dark once more.

* * *

><p>Less than ten minutes later, Snape found himself settled in front of the fire, a glass of Firewhiskey hovering next to his hand, <em>The Fear of the Unknown: The Wizard's Quest for Infinite Knowledge<em> resting on his knee. He sat in an uncharacteristically leisurely manner: if a student saw him, legs slightly apart, shoulders slumped and head tilted to the side as he scanned the text, they would undoubtedly be rendered slack-mouthed and speechless by the sight of their Potions Master, slouched on the chair looking as if he hadn't a care in the world.

In the years to come, Severus Snape would look back at this very moment and say that this was the calm before the storm, the last moment at which he was fully relaxed before his life descended into chaos. These were the last seconds before he changed utterly and irrevocably, his life cast into an endless whirlwind of confusion, conflict and urgency; his last golden moment of relative contentedness, and he would treasure the memory of it for the rest of his life. As he read, the last moments that he spent as the Severus Snape that he had been for the entirety of his life so far ticked away; he was completely unaware of the dominoes that were currently falling, outside of his control, setting off a spiral of change that would touch every facet of his being.

A loud roaring from the fire marked the conclusion of this moment, and although he did not feel it at the time, Severus Snape stepped into a brand new chapter of his life, even as he stood up abruptly, his book dropping to the floor as he reached for his wand.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Please please please review/favourite - its so nice to know that people like reading Spark of Life! :D p.s. thank you to all of you who have already, you are all lovely stars :D

* * *

><p>A wizened figure, doubled over, fell heavily from the fire and onto the unforgiving stone floor with a crack that would have made Snape wince, if he hadn't been so shocked. The figure lay motionless for a moment, before moaning and twisting violently on the floor, his long ordinarily white hair dirty and matted.<p>

"Albus!" Snape exclaimed as he bent to his knees, grasping Dumbledore by the shoulders, freezing cold fear pumping through his insides. "Albus, what's happened? Tell me what to do!" He swept Dumbledore's hair away from his face and almost recoiled at the blood red colour of his irises, glowing impossibly large in his sockets.

"Severus…" the old man exhaled softly, "My hand…"

Snape's eyes flew to Dumbledore's hand, lying outstretched on the cold floor, and took a sudden, audible intake of breath. It was grey and black, as if rotting, and was peppered with deep craters in the skin. His bones were almost visible beneath the cracked, papery skin, his fingers gnarled and painfully thin, as if merely a mere touch to his fingertip would cause it to crumble into dust. The most alarming sight, however, was the steady speed at which the black decay was travelling further up the old man's hand, as if the rotting curse were an army, the mission of which was to lay waste to everything it encountered.

In that moment, as he took in the horror of what lay in front of him, Snape came to three difficult realisations. Firstly, this curse was beyond anything that he could counter; there was no hope of a counter curse; at least, not one that he had ever come across. Secondly, if he didn't act quickly, the curse would reach Dumbledore's chest in mere minutes, and destroy all of his internal organs, killing him within seconds. Thirdly, he hadn't the magical strength to prevent it from happening. His world swirled in an impossible tornado around him as he realised that he could do nothing but watch as the only hope of defeating The Dark Lord, his best friend and the only real father figure he had ever had, died in front of him.

"Severus…" Dumbledore rasped, his face contorted with the pain of his rotting hand. "Severus, I would not ask you to do this lightly, but you must cast Life Spark. I am not afraid to die, far from it, but I cannot leave Harry now…he is the only hope that the wizarding world has, and he is not ready for my departure yet. Please, Severus…"

Snape felt his heart drop, and stay dropping, guilt, anger, devastation weighing it down as he came to the worst realisation of the lot; that he must deny Dumbledore's dying wish, the only man that had given him a second chance, and that had loved him despite his very best efforts to push him away. "I-I can't, Albus," he whispered, his voice choked with emotion. "I don't have the strength. I…gave Life Spark to Hermione Granger, after the Ministry. I am so sorry…" He felt tears prickle his eyes, as he gripped Dumbledore's shoulders even tighter. He looked into the old man's eyes, still red, and almost saw the light go out as he realised that the situation was hopeless, and Albus Dumbledore accepted the inevitability of his own death, right here on the cold flagstones of the Hogwarts dungeons.

Snape broke eye contact, unable to look into his eyes any longer; waves shame, guilt and intense grief crashing through his chest.

"Is there any way to delay?" Dumbledore whispered again. "A potion? There are things that Harry needs to know, to help him..." Resentful despite himself that Potter was even stealing Dumbledore's last moments, he opened his mouth to bite out a negative answer, and then stopped as a thought crossed his mind. He sat stock still for a few seconds, slowly nodding, his mind whirring as he remembered a potion from long ago, one that had slowed death. He had not had the power to create it then, but perhaps now…but he wouldn't be able to finish it in time. He opened his mouth to say so, but Dumbledore interrupted.

"We may be able to stall the curse for a few hours…_Simulare Mortem_…it will give you time…find a longer-term solution…"

"But Albus, the risks! It might not stop the curse, and if your body is simulating death it cannot fight it any longer…"

"We have no choice." Dumbledore rasped authoritatively. "Harry needs my help…we can only try."

Snape nodded numbly, his heart hopeful but his brain practical. If the curse was fooled into thinking Dumbledore was dead, it might stop…or alternatively it may completely consume his body without his continued resistance. Dumbledore was right though: any chance of success was better than simply doing nothing, where failure was guaranteed.

"_Simulare Mortem_ will drain you after Life Spark…you will need help with the potion…"

"I will find someone, Albus." Dumbledore nodded, his face white and contorted in pain as the curse crawled past his wrist. Snape took out his wand quickly, painfully aware that he needed to act now. He took a deep breath, terrified to cast the spell in case it amounted to a death sentence, but also terrified to delay. He slowly lifted his wand.

"Severus…should the worst occur…you must promise that you will guide Harry." Snape nodded shortly. "Also, you must not feel guilt for being unable to save me…you should feel no guilt for saving Miss Granger's life…" Snape looked away momentarily, unable to acquiesce to that particular plea. "Please, Severus." He nodded once again, before turning back abruptly and pointing his wand.

Snape took a last look at Dumbledore's open, trusting face, hoping against hope that this wouldn't be the last time that this man, the man that he had admired for so long, would look upon him. "_Simulare Mortem_!" Snape bellowed, mustering up every ounce of strength that he had left. An intense green light shot from the end of his wand, hitting Dumbledore between his eyes, which immediately closed as he stilled, his chest emptied of air, face pale and body limp and lifeless.

Snape almost didn't dare look at the arm; fear of seeing the curse still active and acting exponentially faster rendered him frozen. Eventually, he took a deep breath and slowly lifted Dumbledore's sleeve…

To reveal the hand, still cursed and withered, the contrast between the rotten skin of his wrist and the unmarked of his arm stark and ugly…

But thankfully unmoving.

Snape felt his whole body relax as he dropped backwards from his knees to sit sprawled against the armchair, relief rendering him as structurally secure as jelly. He looked on at the still figure of the man he most respected, the man who had saved him from complete darkness. And wept.

After a moment, however, he felt a surge of determination to do for Albus Dumbledore as Albus Dumbledore had done for him: to save him. With a click of his fingers, he summoned his own Hogwarts House Elf, Ebby, who immediately appeared before him, eyes widened as she took in the shocking sight of the headmaster lying to all appearances dead on the floor.

"Ebby," Snape began, his voice cracked from the sobs that had until recently been emitting from his chest. "Professor Dumbledore has been cursed. I have put him into a coma to prevent the curse from spreading, but I now need to brew the potion that will save him properly. Ebby, are you listening? He is not dead." The elf warily tore her eyes from the Headmaster, but nodded. "Good. I need you to take him to his quarters and put him to bed, then please find Fawkes. I want you, with Fawkes, to watch over him until the morning, when I will arrive with the potion to revive him. If his condition changes in any way, you must let me know immediately; if he looks to be waking up, fetch me without delay, and you must definitely fetch me if the curse that appears to be affecting his hand begins to spread any further. Do you understand?" Ebby nodded solemnly. "Now go." With a swish of Ebby's hand, Dumbledore was at once levitating several feet in the air.

"If Ebby can be of assistance then Professor Snape only needs to call!" The elf proclaimed, before clicking her fingers, vanishing both herself and the Headmaster.

Severus Snape rose to his feet, before leaning against the fireplace, exhausted from the effort of the spell that only a few months ago he could have cast in his sleep. Hobbling to his extensive bookshelf, he traced each title on the top shelf with long, thin fingers, before pulling out a series of small notebooks that had been placed next to each other in the centre of the shelf. Each notebook had a year inscribed in gold on the black spine, dating from 1976 to 1981; the only evidence he had kept of the darker potions that he had experimented with during the time he had been loyal to The Dark Lord. After Lily's death, he had almost burned them, however Dumbledore, who had happened upon him just before he carried out the deed, had persuaded him otherwise. He could still hear his words: _A discovery is only as evil as the man behind it._ And he had been right, because somewhere in one of these books lay the key to saving Dumbledore's life, at least for now. Flipping haphazardly through 1978, he snorted at his childlike optimism. "A Forgiveness Potion", intended as a last ditch attempt to induce Lily to forgive him for calling her a Mudblood. It had remained unfinished: he had left Hogwarts and walked straight into the arms of The Dark Lord before he had completed it, and after that he hadn't thought much about anything other than power and revenge. At least until he had learned of the plan to kill Potter, the last entry of the last journal had been made shortly before he had overheard the prophecy. Sometimes it occurred to him how ironic it all was; losing Lily had prompted him to join the Death Eaters, but then losing her had also caused him to leave them for good.

With a jolt, Snape realised that he had found what he was looking for, the page entitled: "Curse-Slowing". The Dark Lord had tasked him with this after Roland Karkaroff, faithful servant and elder brother to Igor, had been struck with a particularly nasty brain-wasting curse after a series of months with the Giants, before he could impart the required information. With Karkaroff losing memories with each second, and with no way of extracting the remaining memories without risking being caught up in the curse himself, The Dark Lord had set a newly graduated Snape to work on developing a potion to slow it, allowing Karkaroff to impart everything he knew before his death. This, however, did not go to plan. Despite Snape being sure on the formula of the potion, when tested it had instead accelerated the curse, and rendered Roland a vegetable immediately. The Dark Lord had killed him in anger, before subjecting Snape to four days of periodic _Crucio_. It still gave him nightmares, and sometimes on particularly cold nights, he could still feel the distant ache deep in his bones.

Despite never ascertaining where he had gone wrong, Snape now found himself in the desperate position of being six hours from Dumbledore's reawakening, whereby the curse would restart and lay him to waste within ten minutes. Another _Simulare Mortem_ within one moon cycle would immediately stop his heart permanently. As such, the next six hours would be six of the most crucial of Snape's life. He had to succeed. And he found himself facing them with barely enough energy to cast a simple _Lumos_.

Frustrated, he found himself mentally running through potential candidates to help him with this mammoth task. McGonagall was somewhere in Aberdeen, where he did not know, and he did not have the strength to apparate. Pomfrey was Merlin knows where. Even Flitwick had taken the opportunity to leave Hogwarts while he could; it was obvious that once the students returned, they would be in need of constant protection, more so than ever before, and so staff absences during term could not be permitted.

Frustrated, and tempted to drag himself for the four miles to the Hog's Head on the off chance that Aberforth would be there, he swung around once more to rest his weight against the fireplace, mind spinning. He stopped abruptly, however, as his eyes came to rest on the small _Thank You_ card sat on the mantelpiece.

* * *

><p>Hermione Granger sat in the small yet comfortable living room, with its numerous ornaments littering each available surface. The squashy purple settee groaned as she shifted her weight; its many years of taking the heavy dropping of fully grown teenage boys into it had left it rather less structurally secure than when it had been purchased. She was having another go at <em>The Forbidden Romance of Aradelia Mockett<em>, depressingly badly written though it was; Ginny was unfortunately very sensitive to light when trying to sleep, and so Hermione had kindly left the room to read her traditional pre-sleep chapter.

The humid heat of the afternoon had for the most part disappeared after a storm earlier in the evening, leaving a mild chill in the air. Dressed only in her sleeveless flowery pyjamas, Hermione shivered and, noticing the lateness of the hour, she decided to quietly slip upstairs. Pulling on her Gryffindor slippers, it was as she rose to leave that she heard the whoosh of the fire in the kitchen, and footsteps making for the staircase. Tentatively, Snape's warning still fresh in her mind, she silently padded to the door and out into the hall, pulling her wand out of its usual home in her waistband. After whispering _Lumos, _she saw the shadow of a dark figure making its way up the stairs.

"Who's there?" she called, her voice braver than she felt. The figure stopped, and turned on the stairs, before beginning to quietly make its way downstairs again. Her heart in her mouth, Hermione raised her wand higher, casting light over Professor Snape, his face even more pallid than usual.

"Professor! Has something happened? Are you alright?" Hermione took a step towards him, aware that she should be checking his identity, but at the same time taken aback by the almost fearful expression on his face.

Snape blinked, as if surprised that she were asking after his well being, before quickly composing himself. "Miss Granger, in the missive that you presented me with at the end of last year, you offered your assistance, should I require it. Well, I find myself in a position where I do. Can I hold you to your promise?" His face presented its usual unreadable expression, but there was an urgency in his eyes that left Hermione uneasy.

"Of course, Professor Snape, anything." Hermione replied instantly. She had perhaps imagined it, but she thought she saw him relax fractionally.

"Very well. We must go." He turned on his heel and headed once more into the kitchen. Hermione briefly contemplated asking him if she could retrieve a coat from upstairs, but remembering his demeanour decided against it. Instead, she hurried after him, scrambling into the fireplace after him as he called, "The dungeons, Hogwarts!"


	8. Chapter 8

A/N - I don't know about you, but I find chapters with little dialogue so much harder to write! Still loved writing it though, even if it was a bit tougher! Thank you again for the reviews, faves and followers - every time I get a new notification I get a great big smile on my face, so thank you!

**Chapter Eight**

The fire spat the unlikely pair out suddenly, Hermione stumbling as she caught her foot in Snape's long cloak. Just as she braced herself to hit the stone floor, a hand roughly grabbed her by the shoulder and unceremoniously dragged her back to her feet. Preparing herself for a sarcastic comment, Hermione found herself surprised and left feeling even more uneasy when Snape remained quiet, passing up the perfect moment to mock her, and instead sweeping away from the fireplace and out of the room. Hurrying after him, she quickly took in the small yet cosy, comfortable surroundings; the enticingly well-used green armchair in the centre of the room, the velvet curtains framing the fireplace. Most of all though, Hermione was drawn to one of the largest bookshelves that she had ever seen outside of a library; by the near-transparent sheen rendering the books slightly out of focus, she concluded that it was in fact much larger than it appeared, and had been shrunk to fit in the room. Giving the shelf one last longing glance, she quickly padded after Snape, resolving that one day she would get the chance to look at it, even if she had to break in.

Past the door, Hermione's eyes grew to the size of saucers as she took in Snape's private laboratory. It was easily twice the size of the Potions classroom, with shelves stretching from floor to ceiling over every inch of the room. On the shelves sat hundreds of identical glass jars, filled with ingredients that Hermione wouldn't even dream of, a cornucopia of colours and shapes rendering her unable to concentrate on any single jar without her attention being instantly drawn elsewhere. Her gaze drifted away from the shelves, and onto the enormous wooden desk that dominated the room. On it sat dozens of cauldrons of every imaginable shape and size, each accompanied by a small workspace, complete with a variety of utensils with incomprehensible purposes, at least to Hermione. Potions had never been her favourite subject; she had always preferred less practical lessons in which she could succeed by doing what she loved the most: reading. However, seeing this room…she would swear to solely study Potions for as long as she lived if only she could have a laboratory like this. Fighting the urge to run from workspace to workspace, from shelf to shelf, much like an overexcited child, she tore her attention away from her colourful surroundings, and back to her brooding Potions Master.

Snape stood by the huge, copper cauldron that was undoubtedly the principal: it sat in the centre of the desk, stood the tallest, and possessed the largest girth. In the dim candlelight of the laboratory, his face looked even paler, the black hair that fell across his eyes almost painful in its contrast. He was furiously scanning the page of what looked to be a small black notebook, lips moving in silent appraisal. One hand held the page, the other slicing an unfamiliar purple plant with the utmost precision. He paid no note to the young woman stood barefoot on the stone floor, clad only in pyjamas, staring in surprise at her first glimpse of her Professor truly in his element. He was magnificent, it had to be said: seeing his powerful mind caught in concentration made her immensely glad that he was on their side. She felt, observing him, like she imagined Harry had felt when he had witnessed Dumbledore battling You-Know-Who, like she was intruding on a moment of true art. Unwilling to interrupt his almost violent analysis of whatever lay on the page before him, she remained standing in silence, merely shifting her weight from foot to foot in an attempt to allay the cold rising up her legs from the point at which her feet met the freezing floor. After what seemed like an age, Snape finally raised his head, seeming almost startled at the sight of her, so engrossed he had been in his efforts.

"As I said, Miss Granger," he began, no trace of the worry that had been evident in his earlier manner in his voice, authoritative and stern as usual. "I find myself in need of your assistance. This does not, however, entitle you to touch anything other than that you are instructed to, nor to ask your usual inane questions. Do I make myself clear?" Hermione nodded dumbly, part of her affronted that he felt the need to treat her like a child even after dragging her practically from her bed at midnight, another part of her eager to prove herself to her elusive Potions Master. "You will be receiving no explanation for this…_unusual _night-time sojourn, besides that which may or may not become apparent to you at a later date. As frustrating as this may be for you," Snape continued, a ghost of a smirk briefly crossing his face, "I am under no obligation, and nor do I wish, to provide you with an explanation, and so will not, with or without any amount of questioning." Despite looking almost as if he had enjoyed the opportunity to put her down, his face suddenly became stonily solemn, resulting in Hermione's eyes widening even further, trepidation heightening. "I will, however, say that your assistance is vital in the success of this challenge." Just as quickly, as if concerned that she might take that comment as a compliment, he barely took a breath before proclaiming, "It goes without saying, Miss Granger, that you were not my first choice." Hermione could not help the wave of disappointment that travelled through her, however her more practical side told her to forget it, and to make the most of the fact that she had the opportunity at all, regardless of the reasoning behind her presence. Lifting her chin determinedly, she stared straight at Snape.

"What can I do?"

* * *

><p>Several hours later, Hermione found herself almost asleep on her feet, shivering with the chill that had slowly permeated her bones. From the moment she had asked the question, Snape had barked instruction after instruction, occasionally accompanied by a withering comment, but for the most part with a civil air. Hermione had already decided that she much preferred the Professor when he was concentrating; he was almost amiable in comparison to his usual sarcastic self.<p>

At first, the tasks had been merely menial, as if he were testing her, however they had increased steadily over the hours, even resulting in her casting quite complex spells, in order for the potion to achieve the right consistency, heat and make-up. Never had she experienced the need to be so precise, nor had she realised the sheer volume of ingredients that a potion of this complexity required; it rendered her own previous attempts at brewing woefully inadequate. Initially, she had tried to keep up with each stage of the potion, in an attempt to work out the nature of it, and so guess at its purpose, however this had flown out of the window after ten minutes of Snape's incessant instructions. She could barely keep up with her own tasks, never mind monitoring his as well.

She had, however, noticed that the Potions Master had left the tasks involving spellwork to her, taking more of a supervisory role. Perhaps this was merely due to the potion being extremely complex and so requiring complete concentration, unfettered by the more simple tasks, however Hermione had gotten the sense that there was more to it than that. On numerous occasions, she had noticed from the corner of her eye that he had picked up his wand as if to cast a spell, only to stop suddenly and replace it on the desk. At first she had been alarmed, concerned that the Professor was in some way injured or rendered incapable of magic, however she saw no evidence that he was in pain or any less in control of his faculties than usual. In fact, had it not been for the exhaustion quite obviously pervading his demeanour she would have dismissed his unused wand as a mere coincidence.

So lost in thought was she that Hermione failed to notice, at least for a few moments, that Snape had ceased his constant imperious instruction. When she finally looked up from the Baskweed Foil that she had been carefully slicing, she saw him staring into the central cauldron with barely concealed trepidation. Gingerly, he lowered a small utensil that looked vaguely like a ladle into the shimmering depths of whatever it was that they had toiled for almost four hours to complete, and lifted a small amount out. Nostrils flared, he inhaled deeply, eyes closed, before thoughtfully emptying the contents of the ladle into a small pot. He then clicked his fingers.

Hermione jumped as a small, aging house elf popped into sight instantly, fiddling with its homemade apron in obvious agitation. Judging from the small pink flowers decorating the front, the elf was female.

"Master Snape called Ebby, sir?" The elf stuttered.

"Is your charge well? A simple yes or no, Ebby, I have company and cannot speak freely." The elf glanced about the room wildly, as if expecting You-Know-Who himself, and visibly relaxed when her eyes fell on Hermione.

"Yes, Master, Ebby has done as you says."

"Good. Now, I would like you to fetch the _specimen_, and then go straight back to your original task."

"Yes, Master Snape!" With that, Ebby was gone, before a moment later another pop signified her return, this time with a rather fat, sleepy looking hedgehog in her thin hands. As if disgusted by the creature, she dropped it unceremoniously onto the desk next to Professor Snape, before a final crack signalled her permanent departure.

Hermione had a terrible feeling about the fate of this particular hedgehog, however before she could protest to whatever Snape had planned, he fixed her with an intense glare, which quelled any objection she might otherwise have had. After a moment, obviously satisfied that she would pose no argument, he turned to the hedgehog, wand in hand. Purposefully pointing it at the blissfully unaware animal in front of him, he spoke clearly and calmly the words: "_Recusandem Maledicto_."

To his obvious ire, and to Hermione's secret satisfaction, nothing happened. He waited a moment, as if it were merely delayed, however after a few moments gave up. The slight slump of his shoulders combined with the vicious manner in which he turned to Hermione indicated his embarrassment at the failure of his magic, and in front of a student no less.

"It appears that I require your assistance once again." He spat through gritted teeth. "Quickly, Miss Granger, we have no time to wait for your dallying." Recognising the fury bubbling beneath his snappy exterior, Hermione wisely chose to say nothing, and stepped towards him. "Right. Now, you cast it."

Hermione looked at him in alarm, horrified at the prospect of their very own version of Muggle animal testing. "What? I can't curse a hedgehog!"

"You can and you must." Snape replied coolly, his emotionless black eyes belying the true extent of his impatience.

"No, I'm sorry Professor, but-" she was rudely cut short as Snape grabbed her upper arm tightly, his face inches from hers.

"Do you have any idea how important this is? You can rest assured that I would not have asked for _your_ help if the very future of the wizarding world did not rest on this potion, and so you will help me, if you value your life and the lives of those you purport to care about!" Snape's eyes had rocketed from blank to ablaze within the space of a few seconds, and he spoke the words deliberately and loudly, several shades short of a shout and yet too loud for an exclamation, a seething bellow of a hiss that left Hermione shaking not only from the cold, but also from fear. Abruptly, he let go of her, pushing her away as he did. Hermione could feel the bruises forming on her upper arm already.

"Yes, sir." She whispered, fear of the sudden darkness displayed by the man in front of her warring with the disappointment she felt at having pushed him to abandon the grudging tolerance with which he had treated her for the last few hours. Swallowing hard in an attempt to rid her mouth of the revulsion that had risen like bile up her throat, she pointed a shaking wand at the hedgehog, before whispering, "_Recusandem Maledicto_."

She immediately looked away, unable to bear whatever horrible affliction she had cursed upon the innocent hedgehog in front of her, however after a few seconds of quiet rather than the terrible squeaking of pain she had expected, she stole a glance at the animal. Instead of writhing in agony, or madness, the hedgehog was instead shrinking at a steady, companionable pace. It appeared mildly surprised to find the world around it was growing in size, however there was no panic, simply docile curiosity. Open-mouthed, she stared at Snape, who did not bother to return the gaze. Instead, he took a small amount of what appeared to be bread from a small drawer in the desk, and liberally dipped it into the potion. He then placed the bread in front of the hedgehog, which happily tucked in. Almost instantaneously, there was a marked decrease in the speed at which the animal was shrinking, to the point that if Hermione had not been looking for it, it would have gone unnoticed. She stole another glance at her Professor, who was gazing critically at the hedgehog, however unless she was imagining it he looked slightly less fraught. There were certainly fewer lines on his forehead, and the vice-like grip of his right hand on the desk had lessened slightly.

"If you please, Miss Granger," he spoke quietly, gesturing to the hedgehog. Hermione stared at him for a moment, unsure of what he meant, before she realised that the hedgehog would continue to shrink to dust if she didn't remove the curse.

"_Finite Incantatem,_" she croaked, and the animal immediately returned to its usual size, still feasting on the bread hungrily, oblivious to its restored state. She turned to look at Snape, expecting to see him smirking smugly at her previous overreaction, however he was stood over the cauldron, staring thoughtfully into the murky depths. With a flick of his hand, the fire below was extinguished, and in an instant the laboratory fell deathly quiet, the light returning to that of dim, yellow candlelight, the shadows tall and black, much like the man in the centre of the room.

After an indeterminable amount of time, but which felt a lifetime to Hermione, Snape raised his head, as if remembering her presence. He gave her a long, critical appraisal, thankfully without malice, before speaking so softly that she had to strain to hear him.

"It appears that we have been successful." His voice, although devoid of emotion, was slightly higher than usual, the only sign of the excitement that she knew he was hiding carefully. Pride bubbled inside her as she reflected that she was probably one of a very small number of people, if anyone at all, to have helped this incomprehensibly gifted man to create such a masterpiece. Despite his lack of magical involvement in the potion, his mere instruction had held a previously unheard melody, each precise step a movement within a symphony which had burst into crescendo, and now sat rather inconspicuously in a large copper cauldron. Hermione had known from the first moment that this potion was Snape's own creation; his almost maniacal obsession in ensuring that every element of each instruction was followed to perfection, near-loving gaze as he examined the cauldron after each step and fierce guarding of the notebook in which his instructions were kept had made it beyond obvious. Surprisingly, Hermione found the man before her a little less loathsome than before: it was impossible to see a man so in love with what lay before him, to then return to complete and utter dislike immediately afterwards.

"Your assistance has been…appreciated, Miss Granger." Snape admitted stiffly, eyeing her warily as if expecting that she might explode from the excitement of such a generous compliment.

Hermione almost felt gushing thanks and need to analyse her performance step by step tickling her lips, however, sensing that this was the very last thing that she should say, she bit her response back. Instead, she gave a small smile. "I am glad that I could be of some help to you, Professor."

Snape looked taken aback at her casual response, having obviously expected a reaction such as that that had first come to mind. This wrong-footedness instantly dissipated when Hermione shivered, her bare arms covered in goosebumps, her tiredness and the cold catching up with her now that the previously adrenaline had gone. As if realising for the first time that she was barefoot and dressed only in thin pyjamas, he cleared his throat, resuming his usual posture. "Where is your cloak? Foolish girl. I didn't save your life for you to freeze to death, and I am certainly not minded to begin brewing a Pepper-Up Potion to save you the inconvenience of a cold. On your way!" He gestured dismissively to the open door and fireplace beyond, before turning back to the potion, the feared Potions Professor once more.

Hermione Granger turned to the door, recognising a dismissal when she saw one. The night had not been exactly pleasant, far from it in fact, however there had been a certain quality about it that she suspected might prove in hindsight to have been quite enjoyable. Professor Snape had been quite civil, well at least for the most part which in itself rendered the night at the very least an interesting experience. In fact, she mused as she took a handful of Floo Powder and called out the name of the Weasley home, she had a strange sense that her opinion of Professor Snape might never again be quite what it had been.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N - this was a very hard chapter to write! I much prefer writing dialogue, but of course chapters like this are necessary to make those extra fun! Thank you so much (again) for my reviews/faves/followers, they are so so lovely to see :)

**Chapter Nine**

Severus Snape stormed into his rooms, slamming the door behind him. Heading straight for the Firewhiskey sitting on his desk, he took a liberal swig straight from the bottle, and stood, back arched in anger, staring into the flames licking the fireplace.

As soon as Granger had left, he had bottled a dose of the potion and headed straight for Dumbledore's rooms. Mustering the very last of his magical reserves, he had cast _Finite Incantatem_ and released the Headmaster from his deathly charade, before immediately tipping the potion down his throat. The intense relief he had felt when the curse had slowed, to all appearances to a stop, rivalled no other such sense that he had ever experienced. For a man tasked with deception, manipulation and occasionally murder, the sweet, true feeling of saving a life (at least for now), particularly that of Dumbledore, the nearest thing to a father figure he had ever known, was foreign, beautiful and unforgettable. Awaiting gratitude for the efforts to which he had gone, he had been sorely disappointed.

Dumbledore had tasked him with his murder.

He still couldn't believe it now. This wizard, for whom he had gone to the greatest lengths, pledged his unending loyalty, who had offered him a chance at redemption, now wanted him to permanently sully his soul by killing him.

To save Draco Malfoy's hide! The boy who had only ever stood in the way of Potter, who was fast on track for the Dark Mark, who had been so taken in by his evil wart of a father that he had chosen to celebrate the Dark Lord. Of course, Draco was his godson, and he didn't want to see him die should he fail to kill Dumbledore, or to see his soul fractured if he succeeded. But, Merlin, Snape wanted freedom. He wanted absolution, desperately desired the freeness of soul that only came from atoning for one's sins. He wanted to be worthy of Lily once more. How could that ever be achieved if he were to kill his greatest friend? The weight of the guilt would condemn him to spend the rest of his days in torment.

And the fact that it would be at Dumbledore's request meant nothing. Taking a life, whatever the motivation, was a killing, nonetheless. Perhaps in a court of law it would be viewed differently. But in the sphere of public opinion, and most importantly in the mind of Snape himself when he sat alone and friendless in the quiet of his dungeon, he would have murdered Dumbledore. The evil ex-Death Eater, slimy and greasy, always in the shadow, would have murdered the good, true and righteous leader of the Light. No matter the reasoning behind it, that fact would prevail, and become Severus Snape's legacy. The good inside him would never be acknowledged, neither by the wizarding world or himself. He would rot and turn to dust in the deepest darkness of society, remembered by no one for any reason other than his evil. Although he had never been too concerned with the opinions of others, the knowledge that he would be forever associated with the Dark Lord, would never escape his clutches, was too much to bear.

Snape closed his eyes mournfully. Although he had always suspected that his life would be forfeit, he hadn't expected to also forfeit his soul.

And then there was Potter. How would Potter react, without Dumbledore? If anything would send him off the rails, that would, and then he was likely to focus his efforts on avenging Dumbledore, rather than where he should, on ridding the world of the Dark Lord and all the evil that accompanied him. Merlin, this was an unholy mess. How was he supposed to guide Potter, if Potter thought he had murdered the man he saw as his family? And what of the Order? Where would they be without their prodigious leader?

Why in Merlin's name had Dumbledore put that ring on his finger? What had it promised him that was worth endangering the cause that he had fought for, that they had all fought for, for decades? They were close now, Snape could feel it: this war would be over within a couple of years, one way or another. Why had he chosen this moment, this crucial moment, to abandon all those who relied on him? Snape dropped his head into his hands, sick to his stomach. It seemed that once again, he must sacrifice himself for the greater good. Part of him selfishly wished that Dumbledore had died straight away, rather than placing this burden on him.

Swallowing thickly, he thought of his pitiful self of only a few hours ago, working like a dog to prepare the potion, that which would be the answer to his prayers. In his mind, it would have kept Dumbledore alive until the moment that the Dark Lord fell, standing by Potter's side, guiding him to success. Snape could finally achieve redemption. He could die knowing that the evil that had consumed him for so long had been defeated, and could finally join his beloved Lily. He laughed harshly. How could he have been so foolish? He should have known that Dumbledore would turn even his death to his own advantage. Even if Potter succeeded, his soul would be cursed forever in the knowledge that he had taken the life of the only man that Severus Snape had ever loved. Bitterly, he spat into the fire, before a sudden fury overtook him and he strode into the laboratory. Hand raised, he approached the desk, intending to knock the cauldron and its miserable contents to the floor, leaking between the flagstones.

Mere milliseconds before his hand made impact with the cauldron, he stopped, the image of Hermione Granger rising unbidden to his mind. She had come, barefoot and unclothed, to this freezing dungeon, and toiled for hours over this potion. Not only that, she had done so without question or agenda, merely to repay him for his help. She had followed his every instruction exactly, fighting blatant fatigue, and kept her concentration at every juncture. She had given every effort to this potion, and however much he wanted to, wanted to find a way to blame her for this mess, something wouldn't let him, wouldn't let him render all her efforts futile by laying the potion to waste.

Dropping his hand, he looked away. Perhaps another reason for his anguish, if he were honest, was that his cursed soul was no longer merely his. A small part of it lived inside Hermione Granger, and so when he would take Dumbledore's life, it would lay heavy not only on him, but also on her. Of course, she would not know of it, as he would never reveal Life Spark to her, but she would be weighted down as surely as he by the sins of Severus Snape. It had not mattered so much when absolution seemed inevitable, when he had thought that the only debt he owed was to Lily Potter, but now…now she would be plagued for a lifetime, even after he had rotted into the earth.

But that is her fault! Snape thought crossly. After all, if she hadn't rushed, thoughtless and naïve, after her friends to the Ministry, she would not have been cursed, and so he would not have needed to cast Life Spark. The heavy weight of his soul was the price she had to pay for putting him in the position of being forced to save her life. Being reckless of the consequences does not absolve one of them, after all. But, he acknowledged, he couldn't really lay the blame so squarely at Granger's door, at least not in the privacy of his own mind. No, the fault lay also with him, and with Dumbledore, the Dark Lord, and all the evil that grown, knotted together long before she was born. She was as much a victim of circumstance as Potter, and would undoubtedly suffer just as much before her time was up. He found that thought surprisingly melancholy. Although he disliked the girl intensely, if he were honest he saw some of himself in her. And, considering how she had rushed to his aid so readily and trustingly, he acknowledged that there was maybe a little of Lily. But only a very tiny amount.

Still, they must all make sacrifices in the pursuit of the Dark, Snape reasoned. Even he, for he knew as certainly as he knew that the sun would rise in the morning that he would follow Dumbledore to the end, even if it meant his soul, and therefore Granger's, was forfeit.

Although, he thought grimly as he turned and hurled the bottle of Firewhiskey into the fire, sending a ball of fire momentarily exploding from the grate, it didn't mean that he had to like it.


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: sorry for the delay in this chapter - the joys of working in retail at Christmas, I've had no time to myself for weeks! I hope you all had a lovely Christmas :)

**Chapter Ten**

Severus Snape strode briskly up the corridor to Dumbledore's office, his billowing cloak giving him the air of undertaking a mission far more important than that which was actually at hand: namely the pre-term staff meeting. The day of the students' return had come around far too quickly for Snape's liking; then again it always did. Teaching, although having dominated his life for the last fifteen and a half years, was in no way a satisfying vocation for him; given the choice he would have far preferred the reassuring solitude of research, developing potions to actually make a difference, rather than teaching dunderheaded children for whom the ratio of things taught to things actually absorbed was sickeningly low. Once he had recovered from the panic of the night of Dumbledore's curse, he reflected that a large part of him had actually enjoyed developing the potion that had failed so many years ago, and creating a successful brew that, if marketed, would undoubtedly improve the treatment of those with irremovable curses. Wistfully, Snape once again considered how different his life would be, if he had not turned to the Dark Lord. He could have gone into research, set up a research laboratory, become a noted potioneer. He might even have been respected, maybe even valued as an important member of wizarding society, as impossible as that sounded. There was no opportunity for that now: time was too crucial to spend experimenting in his laboratory, his role was too carefully balanced to risk distraction for anything. Once upon a time, he would have maybe hoped that after the war…but that was the pipe dream of his naïve younger self. Snape wasn't deluded enough to imagine that he would be left once the Dark Lord was gone, he knew full well that his life would likely be forfeit for the sins of his past, probably in protection of Potter. But that was alright, he wasn't afraid of death. Merely a little sad at what might have been, and at the opportunities that he would never have.

At least Dumbledore wouldn't have that. He could truthfully look back on his long, very full life and say that there was nothing left for him to do, anyway. The novel of his life was a colourful epic and this was merely the last chapter; there was no waste in his death, merely an inevitable conclusion. Snape had spent many hours over the three weeks since that fateful night contemplating the issue, and had resolved to place his trust in the elderly wizard, as he had always done. Dreading the task that Dumbledore had set would make it no easier, and besides, the moment might never arise. The Dark Lord might force the final confrontation, and be defeated within a few months, and Dumbledore would die peacefully in his sleep knowing that it was safe for him to leave, with Snape having never had to carry out his wishes, nor to fulfil the terms of the Unbreakable Vow that he had made to Narcissa. Unlikely though that seemed, he clutched onto it, and would continue to do so, unless and until the moment that the alternative became inevitable.

That damned Vow was another cause for concern. Watching over Draco was all very well and good, but he knew that the imp would not allow that readily, bitter as he was over the imprisonment of his father. He had not seen him since he was inducted to the Dark Lord's inner circle, a white, trembling deer surrounded by sharp-toothed wolves, pledging his allegiance, as Snape had done so long ago, to their fickle Master. Eager to prove himself, he would be a liability to the plans of both Dumbledore and the Dark Lord, and Snape found himself inextricably caught in the middle, a multi-coloured pawn in the black and white game of chess. No, he would have to tread carefully in order to simultaneously encourage and dissuade Draco, enough to ensure that he would not incur the wrath of the Dark Lord for his failure, and yet to also make sure that he would not succeed, and that if Dumbledore were to be killed it would be he, Snape, that carried out the deed.

Having said all of that, Snape had rather expected that he would be dreading his return to Hogwarts. However, after a month of Pettigrew lurking around his home, snooping in his private possessions, and constant worry over what the loss of Dumbledore would mean, he was almost relieved to come back to the monotonous routine of school days and blessed solitude of nights. It would keep him occupied, at least.

Arriving at the gargoyle rather quicker than he had anticipated, he stated "Acid Pops" disdainfully, and the statue twisted aside to reveal its usual stone staircase. Dumbledore, for some reason, had requested his presence ten minutes before the other teachers, causing Snape no small amount of apprehension. Undoubtedly, it would be linked to the new Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor: he had had several such meetings in the past, the most notable of which was Dumbledore's announcement of Gilderoy Lockhart's appointment to the post, which had caused Snape to accidentally set fire to Dumbledore's beard, such was his horror at the news. He rather suspected that this summons would be to inform him that Lupin would be returning. As if it wasn't enough that he was forced to brew Wolfsbane for his former childhood bully, he must also be thrown over twice in favour of the werewolf for the post. Reaching the last of the steps, he knocked impatiently at the great wooden door, before entering without giving the old man chance to respond.

"Ah, Severus!" Dumbledore beamed, as if Snape were his dearest friend, joining him for afternoon tea. "You're a bit early…oh goodness, is that the time! It's a good job you came when you did, my boy, otherwise I would still be daydreaming when the rest arrived!" He gestured to the squashy red armchair beside the hearth, the one that Snape had never liked. It was so very _Dumbledore_, gaudy and Gryffindor right down to the gold stitching, the very antithesis of his trusty balding green armchair. Nevertheless, he sat down obediently, as always surprised by just how far it was possible to sink into it. "Sherbet Lemon? Or can I tempt you with a Fudge Fancy? No? It's your loss, Honeydukes has outdone itself this time, I have to admit. Anyway, to business, to business. I asked you here a bit early as I had a couple of things to discuss with you, Severus. The first is the appointment of a new member of staff, as I am sure you have been anticipating. I have had significant trouble in finding a candidate this year, no doubt as a result of Voldemort's attempt at indimidating all potential applicants." Snape snorted at the understatement in his words. "I did eventually have some success, however, with Harry's help."

"Don't tell me, the werewolf is riding to the rescue," Snape said sourly, his significant nose slightly creased in distaste.

"Alas, Mr Lupin did not deem it appropriate to return in such a climate, despite my attempts to convince him otherwise. He seemed to think that, as his affliction is by now well-known," Dumbledore fixed him with a piercing look, causing him to break eye contact uncomfortably, despite his lack of regret, "parents would be even less likely to accept his teaching their children than they were two years ago when it was first…revealed. Even I had to admit that his reasoning is sound." Defiantly, hearing the slight accusation, Snape raised his eyes again, daring Dumbledore to challenge him. Instead, the aged wizard only smiled placidly, and reached for a Sherbet Lemon, before continuing pleasantly as if there had been no underlying atmosphere regarding that particular subject. "I have instead managed to persuade another former colleague to return. I believe you were one of his students – Horace Slughorn?"

Snape blinked. And then took a breath.

"Have you gone completely MAD, Dumbledore?" He exploded suddenly, rising abruptly to his feet and beginning to pace. "How the hell is Slughorn going to prepare them for what's coming? The Dark Lord will pick them all off like flies! They never had any real hope of success, but at least they might have put up some sort of resistance before being Avadad, but now? They won't even make it to the battle! Potter has enough of the Order protecting him to stand a chance of making it to the end, but how will he get anywhere near the Dark Lord without Weasley and Granger there? And Longbottom, and the other Weasleys? Are we just to throw them to the dogs? To let them walk before the Dark Lord barely able to cast a handful of hexes, never mind actually save themselves? Merlin, Dumbledore, they'll just be target practice." He suddenly rounded on the old man sitting patiently before him, finger pointed, his greasy black hair shrouding his equally dark face.

"I didn't know that you cared for them so, Severus," Dumbledore said calmly, unwrapping a sherbet lemon.

Snape laughed harshly, a high-pitched bark that would have made Neville Longbottom faint. "Care? You think this is about caring? I have sacrificed the last fifteen years of my life for this, done everything in my power to protect _her_ son, despite him being the very image of his father! I have not done this so that we can throw away any chance we have of winning this war, because Horace Slughorn wouldn't know a curse if it walked up and tapped him on the shoulder!" He snatched the sweet from Dumbledore's healthy hand, throwing it into the fire, causing Fawkes to squawk in irritation at the sugary sparks that leapt up to his perch on the edge of the great desk that sat between the fire and the two men. "Has that curse addled your brain? Because I would have gambled my best cauldron on your little plan, whatever it is, not involving Potter being captured or killed before he even has chance to attempt to face the Dark Lord!" Angrily, Snape swept away from the old man, and resumed his pacing, shaking with fury.

"I have offered Horace the position of Potions Master, Severus. I have great faith in his ability to satisfactorily prepare the students for NEWT level. However, I do tend to agree that his Defence Against the Dark Arts talents are somewhat lacking, which is why I intend to offer the position to you." Dumbledore stated in a matter-of-fact tone, as if Snape had not spent the last few minutes raging.

Were Severus Snape not a highly trained Occlumens with an excellent sense of self-awareness, he would undoubtedly be staring at Dumbledore open-mouthed and speechless. As it were, he simply froze, his black, fathomless eyes locked with the older wizard's, pleasant yet piercing blue.

"Why now?" He managed after a few moments, his manner the very opposite of what it had been before, careful and considered.

"It occurred to me," said Dumbledore mildly, "that this is likely to be my last opportunity to grant you the wish that you have harboured for so long. As you have just stated so vehemently, the children are in desperate need of directed defence training, more so than ever before. You are right: it is likely that our current students, certainly those in the higher years, will play an integral part in bringing this war to its conclusion. They need intensive teaching, both to address the inadequacies of their Defence Against the Dark Arts education to date, and to equip them for whatever the future may hold. I could not possibly hope to find a better candidate for this task than yourself, Severus." A lesser man than Snape would probably have cast his eyes downwards at this statement, suitably ashamed of their previous outburst, however this particular wizard stood his ground, gazing coolly at Dumbledore, seemingly unfazed by his compliments. "Besides, you have earned it, my boy. Over the last fifteen years you have proven yourself trustworthy and have consistently offered your loyalty to me, with no repayment expected. I know now that the Vow that you pledged to me was unnecessary, as you are an honourable man and I have the greatest faith in your word."

"Honourable? I think you are senile, Dumbledore. No-one in their mind could possibly consider me honourable."

"Then I have never been in my right mind, Severus." Dumbledore paused thoughtfully, considering the difficult man stood expressionless beside him. "Why are you so determined to prevent others from having any good opinion of you, Severus?"

"I am not a good man, Dumbledore. I sold my only friend to the Dark Lord for power and good favour. I have done things too evil for you to comprehend. You cannot say that I am honourable." Dumbledore opened his mouth, as if to persevere, however Snape quickly cut in. "I am, however, grateful for the position, whatever the motivation." He pronounced stiffly, as if forcing the sentiment out through gritted teeth. "You could have given me more notice though, old man, I shall have to sit up all night to finish the lesson plans." Snape, outwardly disgruntled, did not mention that he had sat up all night almost every night since that of Dumbledore's request, nor that he would be grateful for an activity to fill the time other than brooding on the potential consequences of his actions when the time arrived.

Dumbledore regarded him somewhat sadly, eyes wandering over his wretched form, racked with guilt from long ago. "My greatest fear for you has always been that others will never learn the best of you. However, I think now that by far the greater worry is that you will never learn the best of yourself." As if sensing Snape's reluctance to continue on the current subject, he dropped it, reaching for his forgotten cup of tea, casting a small heating charm before raising it to his lips. Swallowing, and emitting a soft sigh of appreciation, he raised his eyes to regard Snape once more, eyes which seemed to shine with moisture a little more than they had a few moments ago. However, to Snape's surprise, when he spoke once more his tone was brisk and business-like. "There was one other thing, Severus."

"Of course there is," Snape smirked wryly. "You forget that I have known you for a long time, old man, and I can tell quite easily when you are trying to butter me up for something."

Dumbledore chuckled, his previously serious face crinkled with mirth. "I find it highly unlikely that I, nor anyone else, have ever been able to "butter you up" for anything, Severus."

Snape inclined his head in agreement, his face expressionless but his eyes holding a slight dance of well-hidden amusement.

"It regards Miss Hermione Granger."

Immediately, Snape's eyes narrowed suspiciously, his posture erect. "What about the insufferable know-it-all?"

"As you are undoubtedly aware, her presence is crucial to Harry's success. However, I feel that her usefulness lies not in her ability to fight, but in preparing others to. She is a very intelligent young woman, and as you so astutely pointed out, the chances of Harry reaching his final confrontation with Voldemort are much reduced without her. As such, it is as important for her to be sufficiently prepared as it is for Harry, if not more. Harry has his mother's protection on his side, Miss Granger has only her own intellect."

"What are you asking of me, Dumbledore?"

"I want you to tutor her in Potions, Severus. After my death, and your necessary exclusion from the Order, it is likely that Hogwarts will be taken, and so Harry will be forced to leave. There will be no-one close to him to brew the potions that he may need: healing potions, anti-venins should he encounter Nagini, Polyjuice should he need to evade capture. It is also vital that there is another to brew more complex potions for the order. For instance, after your exile from the Light, who will brew Wolfsbane for Remus? There is no one who has both the ability to brew such a potion and the necessary proximity to Harry, whom we can trust absolutely, other than Miss Granger. You obviously hold her Potions skills in high esteem, or you would not have appointed her as your assistant in the brewing of the curse-slowing potion."

"She was the only possible candidate at the time - I would have much preferred Minerva, however I was unable to locate her! This is madness, Dumbledore, she has no real talent in Potions, other than that to memorise the textbook!"

"Perhaps I am misremembering, Severus, but was it not Miss Granger who successfully brewed Polyjuice Potion in her second year, when she was barely thirteen years old?"

Snape paused for a second, thinking furiously. "Granted, but Wolfsbane and anti-venins are of a much higher complexity than a mere Polyjuice Potion, and require a flair for the subject, not merely obsessive memorisation! Why not Minerva? She is more than capable of brewing such potions, and surely she can be trusted! Or Slughorn? In fact, why can't Slughorn tutor her, since he is now Potions Master?"

"And if Hogwarts is taken by Voldemort, and Harry is on the run? It is Minerva's duty to stay at the school; how can she be contacted should he require an immediate healing potion, or if they are captured? And as for Horace, you know as well as I that Horace has only his own interests at heart. Surely you cannot think that I would trust him either with the brewing of such potions, or the information that he would have to be privy to in order to effectively tutor Miss Granger?" Snape's pallid face tinged purple as he desperately attempted to think of another candidate.

"Well, why not Potter himself? Granger might not even be with him, she might pack her bags and head off back to the Muggle world. Surely it is better if Potter can save his own life, rather than relying on others?"

"Harry has more than enough to worry about, Severus, without forcing him to take lessons with you again. I have not forgotten the conclusion of his last set of private lessons with you. Besides, when in the last five years has Miss Granger indicated that she would not be with Harry until the end? If my memory serves me correctly, she has risked her life several times to save his, most recently at the Ministry in June. Which also raises the question, if you consider her importance in this war to be so small, why did you deem it necessary to cast Life Spark to save her life?"

At this, Snape was caught short. Dumbledore was right: she was crucial to Potter's success. And Potter's success was what he had decided to dedicate his life to the achievement of, he couldn't allow his distaste for teaching an annoying teenage girl to stand in the way of everything that he had worked for, to stand in the way of Lily's forgiveness. If he had to put up with a few hours of the insufferable girl to achieve his redemption, then so be it. And despite having suggested Potter as an alternative, could she really be as bad as him? His dislike for Granger was built not upon deeply ingrained animosity, as with Potter, but merely upon impatience for her incessant questioning and need to please. No, she was at least marginally better than Potter. And she had proven herself to be slightly less intolerable than usual when assisting his brewing that fateful night of a few weeks previously; perhaps it would not be so terrible after all. She might even be able to take some of the pressure off him, by learning to brew some of the simpler potions. Although he inwardly railed against the idea of seeking help from anyone, he had to admit that logically it would make sense, particularly when the summons from the Dark Lord began again, once Potter had returned to the school. And then there was the problem of Malfoy…no, it would be easier if there was another to take some of the load of the simpler potions.

"Of course, my feelings on the matter are irrelevant, as always, as we both know that I have no choice," he stated stiffly, not allowing his inner acceptance of the task to interfere with his fury at Dumbledore for his imposition of it in the first place. "I once again bend to your command, Albus, as I always have."

Dumbledore looked upon him sadly, and appeared to be about to say something, however a sharp rap at the door punctured the moment. Instead, he rose from his seat and set his tea upon the desk, before moving slowly to the door to open it. Just before he reached it, however, he turned around, and said very softly, "I am sorry that I still have the need to use you, Severus. However, I cannot risk removing the Vow just yet, as I feel that there is one particular request that you may have trouble granting me without it." Snape's mind immediately flew to Dumbledore's demise, hanging heavy over their heads. Sad, fuming and disgusted all at once at the emotional blackmail, he swept past Dumbledore and to the door, pushing past the teachers gathered outside, uncaring of the pre-term meeting.


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: Hi everybody, Happy New Year! I wish you all the best for 2015 :). Everything (obviously) belongs to J.K. Rowling, I just have fun following her wonderful creations!

**Chapter Eleven**

"Hermione!"

Hermione stopped walking suddenly and spun around in the direction of the voice, the line of Gryffindors on their way to the Welcome Feast behind her halting abruptly in turn, causing much bumping and grumbling. Standing on her tiptoes to see over the taller of the students, she spotted Neville hurrying towards her, stumbling slightly every now and again in hi-s haste to reach her. When he did finally approach her, his face was pink and puffy, and he was breathing heavily. "Hermione – have you seen Harry?"

Instantly, Hermione's heart froze. "No, why? I thought he was with you!"

"He was! We went to Slughorn's meeting on the train together, then when it was finished he raced off after Zabini, and we haven't seen him since." Neville gabbled anxiously, running a hand through his hair.

"Have you asked Ron if he's seen him?" Hermione asked, craning her neck to catch sight of the red-headed prefect leading another group of students towards the Great Hall.

"Yeah, he hasn't either, none of the Gryffindors have!"

Hermione's heart sank. The year hadn't even started yet, and already Harry was in trouble. It didn't take a genius to work out that he had followed Zabini with the intention of finding Malfoy, and who knows what might have happened then. Briefly closing her eyes, she took a moment to curse the foolhardiness of boys, before coming to her senses.

"Alright, Neville, let's not panic yet. Go and sit down, he might just be ahead of us. He can't have gone far from the Hogwarts Express to here."

But even after the students had settled into the Hall, and the Sorting had begun, Harry was still worringly absent. Both Hermione and Ron paid little if no attention to the new students, aside from distractedly clapping when each new Gryffindor was sorted. At the end of the Sorting, Ron leant towards her, and whispered worriedly, "Snape isn't here either!" For a brief moment, Hermione felt a shot of concern for Harry, her old animosity towards Snape returning momentarily as she contemplated the ways in which Snape might be torturing him. However, almost immediately she remembered the night of the potion, how amiable he had been (well, for Snape anyway), and the worried concern that had driven him to work himself into exhaustion. Instantly, her fear dissipated: however Snape hated Harry, he was hardly about to kidnap and deliver him to You-Know-Who, not when he had worked so hard for Harry's safety. No, Snape was probably looking for him. She thought momentarily of expressing this to Ron, however instantly dismissed that thought as ludicrous. Asking Ron and Harry to stop suspecting Snape for everything that went wrong at Hogwarts would be like asking You-Know-Who to simply stop terrorising the entire wizarding population: pointless. However, just because Snape wasn't a threat to Harry hardly made her feel any better about his absence: Hogwarts had hardly been a safe place for him over the last five years, what with Professors Quirrell and Moody secretly being Death Eaters, Umbridge being as good as and his best friend's pet rat turning out to be his parents' betrayer, not to mention the Triwizard Tournament and the giant snake that had threatened the student population in their second year.

No, Hogwarts was no safe place for Harry. After considering their options for a few moments, she leant over to Ron, and whispered urgently, "We have to tell Dumbledore!" She nodded up to the Professors' table, where the great wizard was deep in conversation with Professor McGonagall, apparently unaware of Harry's absence. Ron nodded, and the two were just beginning to move when silence fell suddenly over the Hall, heads turned in the direction of the open doors leading from the Entrance Hall. Hermione's heart leapt into her mouth as she saw what had caused the sudden quiet: two dark figures silhouetted in the doorway. Younger students clutched at each other in apprehension, the older students eyeing the figures warily as one suddenly broke away from the other and quickly made its way towards the Gryffindor table, in an instant the light revealing it to be Harry. Hermione felt her whole body relax as she saw her missing friend, and from the sudden return of colour to Ron's face he was feeling the same. However, her relief was short-lived as he grew nearer, and she could see his face properly.

"You're covered in blood!" She exclaimed in horror, studying his face to detect the source of the bleeding. Satisfied that whatever had caused it had been healed, she vanished the blood from his face, leaving an obviously irate Harry looking as normal.

"Thanks. How's my nose looking?" Harry replied thickly, as he touched his face gingerly. Examining him cautiously, before concluding that he was definitely alright, she reassured him. When questioned, however, he became evasive, and immediately changed the subject to safer waters. As the conversation continued, Hermione resolved to give him a piece of her mind as soon as they were alone, dissatisfied as she was with his lack of explanation, and more than a little cross at him for terrifying her and Ron. She opened her mouth to let him know that she wouldn't be letting it go, however no sooner had she done so than an unnatural hush fell on the room. Spinning around on the bench, Hermione's hand immediately flew to her mouth as she saw what others had seen before her: Professor Dumbledore, arms outstretched to welcome them back as usual, his right hand shrivelled and black, as if it were rotten. It was at its blackest at the point that his wrist met his sleeve, and grew slightly greyer in colour the closer to the end of the limb it travelled, an unnervingly visible spectrum of decay. His fingers were spindly twigs that looked as if they might snap should he so much as pick up a quill, his fingertips uneven and brittle, as if they had simply crumbled away. The image reminded Hermione uncomfortably of a moth she had once touched as a curious young child: substantial enough to look at, but at a mere brush disappearing into fine powder, as if it had never really existed at all.

So distracted was she by its grim appearance that she barely registered Harry telling her that it had been that way when Dumbledore had picked him up from the Dursleys' in the summer. She made a dazed half-hearted attempt at a reply, mentioning something about curses…and then it clicked.

Snape.

That night he had visited The Burrow to ask for her help, the potion they had brewed…it was for Dumbledore.

That was why he had been so out of character that night, passing up chances to mock her: he had been too busy saving Dumbledore's life. Looking back, it all made sense, the frantic pacing, the lack of explanation, the obvious urgency of this potion. He had been panicking about losing Dumbledore, understandably. Hermione felt a brief shiver run through her at the thought of trying to win the war without Dumbledore. Where would Harry have been, if he had died? Hermione still suspected that there was more about Harry's task that Dumbledore hadn't told him, crucial things that would give him some idea as to how to even begin defeating You-Know-Who. If Hermione were honest with herself, if Dumbledore had died in the summer they would have had no clue where to start. They would have had no chance: they would have been sitting ducks. It was scary how unprepared they actually were.

However, one thing that this epiphany didn't explain was why Snape had been unable to complete the potion himself. Yes, it was a complex potion, but Hermione was positive that one didn't become a Potions Master without brewing much harder potions than that. Maybe it was just easier for him to supervise, to keep his head clear? Hermione instantly rejected that idea: she felt sure that had he had the choice he would have far rather completed it alone, and even if he had preferred to enlist an assistant, she wasn't stupid enough to think that she would be his first, second or even third choice. No, the only way Professor Snape would ask Hermione Granger for help would be if he was desperate, which led her to surmise that he had been unable to complete the potion alone. But why? Maybe he had been cursed too? But he appeared physically fine, and it seemed unlikely that Dumbledore's hand would be so badly affected while Snape remained outwardly unaffected.

Head swimming, thoughts swirling, Hermione almost missed what came next, and perhaps would have done, had her attention not been captured by the sight of a small, balding old man with a rather enormous stomach standing up at the Professors' table, nodding towards the students. Hastily, she refocused herself on Professor Dumbledore, in time to hear: "…has agreed to resume his old post of Potions master. Professor Snape, meanwhile, will be taking over the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts Teacher." In an instant, the room erupted into stage whispers, the disbelief almost palpable even in that short moment. Startled, Hermione turned to Harry, who was staring up at Professor Dumbledore, obviously aghast, his mouth slightly open. He caught her gaze for a moment, as if checking that he hadn't misheard, before almost howling "No!" in Dumbledore's direction. Looking towards the new Defence teacher, Hermione saw a look of savage amusement pass over his face at Harry's outburst, before his pale hand brushed a lock of greasy hair out of his eyes, obscuring her view. When she could see his face again, he had once again assumed the expressionless mask, the only evidence of any emotion whatsoever an indefinable dance deep in his eyes. However, when his eyes flickered towards the Gryffindor table and met Harry's burning gaze, he allowed his lips to quirk upwards in a taunting smirk as he raised a hand to quieten the rapturous applause originating from the Slytherin end of the Hall. Sensing Harry's growing fury, Hermione hastily moved to distract him, taking his attention away from Snape.

"But, Harry, you said that Slughorn was going to be teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts!"

"I thought he was!" Harry replied, brow furrowed in thought. "Well, there's one good thing, Snape'll be gone before the end of the year. That job's jinxed, No-one's lasted more than a year…Quirrell actually died doing it. Personally, I'm going to keep my fingers crossed for another death…"

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed in shock, surprised by his callous attitude, even considering his long-standing feud with the former Potions Professor. Harry knew better than anyone the painful, robbing nature of death, and she was surprised that he would claim to wish that upon anyone on the side of the Light, enemy or not. But then again, she reasoned, he didn't have the same cause as she to believe in Snape's loyalty. Briefly, she toyed with the idea of telling Harry about his efforts in saving her life and (she suspected) Dumbledore's too but immediately rejected it. She loved Harry dearly, but one thing she had come to accept long ago was his stubborn nature when it came to Professor Snape, his point-blank refusal to see any good in the man, no matter what the evidence suggested. He was unable to see past the thorny, insulting exterior, taking his mean and cruel demeanour as evidence that he was mean and cruel in essence. He simply could not accept that an extremely unpleasant person could also be good at heart. Hermione herself might have been forgiven for believing the same, not so long ago, but now…well, she had seen a different side to Professor Snape. However cruel he had been to her in the past, he had saved her life, and that must surely outweigh infinite nasty comments. Besides, having seen him so blatantly fearful for Dumbledore's welfare, she didn't think she could go back to thinking of him as a man who only valued himself. If he wasn't such a strong Occlumens, and so in control of his emotions at all times, she might have said that he had been out of his mind with worry for the old wizard.

In fact, now she came to think about it, it was obvious that Snape deserved the Dark Arts job. He had saved Dumbledore's life: that surely had to be the biggest evidence of his loyalty that he could possibly supply. Dumbledore couldn't doubt him now. No, she would never admit it to Harry, but she was happy that Snape had been rewarded with his favourite teaching post.

Although that didn't make her feel any better about the prospect of being on the wrong end of Snape's wand in her Defence Against the Dark Arts Classes. Somehow, she didn't think that his appointment to the post would dramatically change his attitude towards his students, and the prospect of him being his usual malevolent self with permission to use the Dark Arts rendered Hermione more than a little uneasy…

* * *

><p>The remainder of the Feast passed quickly and far less eventfully, and as soon as Dumbledore had finished his announcements Hermione had rushed off to round up the first years by herself, as much to her disgust Ron had already shirked his prefect duties and stayed behind to talk to Harry. Now, after a short tour of Gryffindor tower followed by a forty-five minute lecture on the history of the House (which in hindsight might have been a little too long, considering one of her little troupe had nodded off and nearly fallen in the fire), Hermione finally stepped into her dormitory, and breathed a sigh of contentment as she saw her own little four-poster bed nestled in the corner of the room, Crookshanks curled in a comfortable looking ball on her pillow. Although when she had first arrived at Hogwarts it had taken a while to get used to sharing a dormitory with the other girls in her year, she now missed the company when she was alone in her room at home. Not that she particularly valued the company of Lavender and Parvati, but it was nice to have other people there. She had always regretted being an only child, despite the healthy relationship she had with her parents, and Hogwarts had given her the opportunity to experience growing up with people of her own age. Whatever would happen over the next few years, Hermione determined, she would cherish the time she had left at Hogwarts, her home from home.<p>

A sharp rap at her window interrupted her reverie, and she opened it to reveal a majestic, black owl impatiently hopping from foot to foot on her window ledge, a small yellowing envelope fastened tightly to its left talon. No sooner had she untied it than the owl flew off in high umbrage with a high-pitched screech, obviously resentful at being used as a mere carrier pigeon. Hermione stared after it as it quickly disappeared into the black sky, surprised at its grumpy attitude despite her timely receipt of the missive. However, as soon as she opened the envelope to reveal the spidery scrawl of her new Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor, her surprise faded. It made sense that such a prickly owl should have a prickly master. The message was brief, which only served to make its purpose even more intriguing:

_Miss Granger,_

_My office, tomorrow at 7pm. Be prompt._

_S. Snape_

Hermione sat thoughtfully on her bed, the note still clutched in her hand. What on earth did Snape want with her? Could it be related to the potion? Or maybe he wanted her help with something else? As she tickled Crookshanks' tummy, she felt a surge of trepidation spread through her. He would undoubtedly be back to his usual malicious self, and whatever he required of her would likely insult or mock her. Although she hadn't expected anything different, it had been a nice change to feel vaguely useful to Professor Snape, and she had to admit that she would miss it. Ultimately, all she had ever wanted at Hogwarts was to please her teachers and stand out from the crowd intellectually, to prove that she was just as worthy of her place in the wizarding world as Draco Malfoy, regardless of her blood status. Professor Snape had been the only of her teachers who had not consistently praised her performance, in fact had actively belittled her despite her very best efforts. It had been nice, even for a few weeks, to feel that she had begun to make progress with him, and that he had appreciated her, even for a few moments once the potion had been completed. Return to Hogwarts marked the inevitable return to the frosty disapproval and malicious disdain of before.

"Well, Crooks," Hermione said fatalistically, as he curved into the hand that was now scratching his ear, "it was always going to happen. And besides, I don't even know why I'm bothered; I've managed five years without a kind word from Professor Snape, I'm sure I can manage a bit longer. Anyway, Harry is the important thing at the moment: Ron and I are all he's got left, after Sirius….and with Voldemort back in public, it's only a matter of time before he starts gaining power again. He needs me to help him, and to keep him focused on what's important, if this fixation on Malfoy is anything to go by. I'm really worried for him." Hermione paused in her ministrations for a moment, deep in thought eliciting a disgruntled growl from the fluffy ginger Kneazle beside her, but a distant bang signifying the return of Lavender and Parvati brought her back to her senses. Slowly getting to her feet, she moved over to her bag and retrieved a small black diary, writing in her appointment with Professor Snape in neat handwriting. Replacing it, she then set about unpacking her belongings, making the most of her last few moments of peace before the two giggling girls reached the dormitory.


End file.
